Dance a Thousand Steps
by lucia marin
Summary: Sequel to Escaping the Inescapable. Slowly Rory's working on the bad boy's reform; but when life comes crashing down for Tristan, and a sensuously terrifying reminder of his past returns, can he win the fight against himself and hold on to love.......??
1. Cold Shadow Rising.

TA-DA! The awaited sequel is finally here. Escaping the Inescapable was set junior year, this is senior year, sorry for discrepancies. It's currently late fall, winter.....Tristan and Rory are kind of officially dating, they're best friends first and they don't usually try to get physical, for good reasons. But hey, as fate would have it...things happen...This is the beginning of a slightly shorter series chronicling the first major problem they come across...or problems...let's just say this is the point where Tristan has to fight that battle to finally kill his past urges. It's a big choice....even though it's Rory..he'll be having a hard time. People don't change overnight, ya'll. 

Will he? Won't he? Can he help himself?? We'll see. Lots of nice angst in this one for ya'll, and a tease ending.....

Disclaimer: I wrote the story line, that's the only thing that's mine. Props to Dave Matthews for the song/title idea

Enjoy.

Luce 

Days drifted into weeks, then months, then years..........lifetimes rolled by......

"Ms. Gilmore?" the harsh voice screeched the dream to a halt.

Rory's head snapped up violently, her mouth opened for words, but none came. 

"Yes, no, ..uh.....could you repeat the question?" she stammered, loathing herself for having drifted out like that.

"Have you brought your consent form? For the trip this weekend?" snapped the woman, clearly impatient. "You were aware that all permission waivers were to be collected at the end of class today, were you not?"

Rory desperately searched in her backpack, producing the slip of paper triumphantly, a little flustered. 

"Here it is, ma'am," she said nervously, and the teacher snapped it and passed.

Relieved, she leaned back in her seat and grinned.

The bell rang mercifully, and she sprang up from her seat and headed to her locker. Fumbling with the ever-uncooperative lock, she groaned as the locker refused to budge.

"Goddamn you, you'll do as I tell you to or I'll beat you until you do," she muttered towards the sulky locker.

"Alright, alright, I'll make out with you in the hallway, just don't beat me," she heard a smooth voice behind her say, warm and close as two arms firmly planted themselves on either side of them.

"Tristan, hello to you too," she said, rolling her eyes and banging on the locker.

"I knew you were dominatrix by night," he whispered, making her giggle.

"I think the topic was my locker, not you." she said dryly, trying to evade the tiny kisses he was discreetly trying to plant on her ear.

"I could have sworn you were talking about me. You don't get that mad at anyone else." he joked, and stepped back, giving her more room.

"Yes Tristan, I want you. You're incredible. I command you to strip right now and take me, right here. But before that, can you open my locker?"

The boy took a dry swallow and smacked his fist in the side of the locker twice. It sprang open like magic.

"Can I get a reward?" he smiled, lazy and sexy, watching her under those thick fringed lashes.

"Nope. Locker opener comes in the job description. Where's that contract we signed? Only a few months on the job and he already wants a raise....." said Rory, ignoring her own words.

When she saw his clearly wicked smirk, she blushed.

"Whoa, stop that! Get your mind out of the gutter! Everything I say is innocent!" she hissed, heading down the hallway.

"Yeah right. Hey everyone, Rory Gilmore's kinda frisky today. Maintain a safe distance."

"Tristan!" 

"Just calling it like I see it." Tristan smirked.

She tried her hardest to be angry, and failed very passively.

"You're .....insane.....irrepressible.....an absolute egomaniac. You're lucky to be in my good graces, I don't see how it happened." Rory sighed, exiting the building.

"That, Mary Mary Quite Contrary, I can't argue with." he said, and abruptly grabbed her arm in a gentle motion.

"What?" she said, swinging around to face him, a bright smile lighting up her face.

He quickly lowered his head and planted a deep, sweet one on her unsuspecting mouth. A little dizzy, she backed away.

"What the...I thought we weren't doing that here!" she whispered furiously, her eyes darting around to see if anyone had noticed.

"I might as well apologize. Just letting you know, I'm not really sorry though." Tristan said, his eyes sparkling mischievously. 

"Give me one reason that you would risk my happiness by doing that." she said, angry, marching forward, trying to suppress the huge smile that just wanted to break through her face.

"Well, you see, I was sitting in first block when I saw you in the hallway, and your cheeks were all red from the cold, and your mouth, and I was wondering if you'd taste as cold as you looked, and all of a sudden I really, really, really wanted to kiss you. The thought just kinda followed me the rest of the day. C'mon, don't be mad. I'm not completely trained yet. Here, slap my wrist." whispered Tristan playfully, watching her closely.

She couldn't help but smile anymore, and when it broke through the surface, it was like the sun glistening off the diamond sugar snowbanks.

"What am I going to do with you?" she said, pulling his face close. She gazed into his eyes, so full of life, brimming with energy, with schemes, with a calm, cocky air of true confidence. He was a golden boy, absolutely untouchable, mysterious, handsome, and irresistible; and only she had him, only she was anywhere close to controlling him. He scared her sometimes, and today might have been one of those times.

Slowly, with a wicked gleam in his eye, he smiled a seductive smile that sent chills all the way down her body.

"Ok, bedroom eyes need to be averted away from poor Rory. What is up with you today?" she asked incredulously, happily grinning.

"I feel like I own the world. All except for you, O high and mighty one," he said with mock humbleness, bowing his head towards her.

She lightly smacked it.

"Any reason for that?" Rory asked, as they descended the steps.

"Hmmm....must be the thought of this weekend in Boston with out American History class....and you. Lemme guess, you have this neat little packing list and you check off each thing as you fold it in the suitcase. Rory Gilmore, the queen of all that is precise..." Tristan laughed.

"Actually, I'm packing tonight. Our house is a mess right now, I can't find anything."

"I've never known your house not to be a mess."

"Yeah well, some of us can't hire Dominican maids to clean it."

"Cheap shot." pouted Tristan.

"You questioned a Gilmore way. You deserved that."

"What's my punishment? Are you gonna make me vacuum your house?"

Rory shuddered.

"It would be kinder to incarcerate you for life. That's how long you'll be trying to find the vacuum anyways...."

"Did you want to drive down with me? Since we're seniors now, you know we can drive ourselves and check into the Sheraton at 6 on Friday. It's a pretty long trip.." asked Tristan, flipping his car keys.

"Sure," she smiled brightly. "We've had longer trips." she said, her eyes glowing soft with inside secrets.

He looked at her mutely, and shook his head. A slow and wide smile took over his face as he climbed into his car.

"Hop in. I'll take you home."

"No."

"Oh c'mon, you've let me take you home lots of times before."

"Like when?" countered Rory.

"Well, last year." he said, racking his brain.

"Hey, didn't we end up in Louisiana? That's what I thought. Bus for me." said Rory sarcastically, marching down to her stop.

"I took you home other times! Don't be obstinate. Not like I can't afford the gas." he groaned, glaring.

"Wow, you managed to contradict me, call me a name, and rub your wealth in my face all in one sentence! Congratulations. I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

"Mary," he called out softly, and she stopped short at the sound of his voice.

The name still had the same effect on her as before.

Rory was her name; he had ceased calling her Mary consistently, since she was no longer just Mary to him. But there were memories attached, moment of dark silence in-between breaths, sweet gold sunlight slanting on cream colored sheets in New Orleans mornings, just the soft sound of the syllables. The word came out so intimately alluring, so full of nuances that froze her when she heard them. He knew, and used it sparingly and wisely. There was power in the word. He let her now with a single sound how much he needed her, how much he wanted her, what she did to him.

Quietly, she slipped into the passenger seat.

"Tristan, look, Stars Hollow is out of the way. You don't have to do this everyday. It makes me feel really bad, so just for my sake, can you not?"

Tristan looked at her with disbelief.

"Oh for Chrissake Rory, that was nice bull, but, it was still bull. Deal with it." 

The two rode in silence for a moment, a smile creeping over her features.

"You know, I kinda like you," she said, with a fresh and teasing honesty that he breathed in with relief.

"I would hope so," he grinned, and stepped on the pedal, making Rory scream out admonitions as she laughed.

She found something unbelievably sexy in the way he drove. His features were always tensed in concentration, he handsomely sculpted jaw line even more defined, the eyes focused, a tiny grin on his face as he made the motor roar. The sinewy arms flexed, and she could see them where he had rolled his shirtsleeves up as he worked the gears in perfect timing to the car's response. She felt an crazy, happy sensation every time he sped around a curve so fast that the gravity tore her to one side, and left her lightheaded. They flew over the roads, darting in and out of highway traffic with perfect ease, changing lanes in tight spots, speeding unbelievably. She held on tight to the hand rest and begged him to slow down, but he knew she didn't really mean it. She watched the muscles in his neck and chest tighten and relax as he changed gears and squeezed in and out, taking the ramp at a maddening speed. He knew the look in her eyes, and furtively, he smiled a secret smile at her innocence and girlishness and mad, joyful laughter.

Burning rubber into the driveway, he stopped the car with a halt and listened as her crazy, gasping giggle poured through the open door as she lithely emerged from the steel and silver cocoon.

"This is why I don't let you drive me home!" she playfully yelled, grabbing her backpack.

"You're here half an hour early! Don't even deny you liked it."

"I saw my life pass before my eyes." said Rory, rolling her eyes.

"You know you want to again," he said, smiling his secret smile, and suddenly, she knew he had known exactly what she was thinking when she watched him drive.

"I highly doubt you know exactly what I want." she said, a little flushed, slamming his door.

He rolled down the window.

"Maybe, but I know denial when I see it," he yelled after her. She paused for a moment, and looked at him expressionlessly.

Running inside, she slammed the door.

He leaned his head back on the headrest, ran a hand through his hair, and allowed the grin to spread over his face.

"The wheels of progress are turning," he thought to himself absently, his teacher's words in American History that morning. Maybe there was something yet he had learned at school.

"A vacation. Without me. Unfair." muttered Lorelai Gilmore as she screeched into the long, winding driveway before the stone mansion. Impeccably manicured lawns and gardens surrounded them, tall elms and oaks shading the beautiful house. 

"Oh cmon, only one weekend, you'll live," grinned Rory good naturedly.

"And you get to spend it with Hot Tristan."

"You want him more than I do, don't you. Freud had a name for this. Well, feel free. Just don't take him across state lines, they'll arrest you for kidnapping a minor," giggled Rory, lightly stepping out of the car. Lorelai rolled her eyes and tossed the Adidas duffel out. 

"Begone. Don't do anything I wouldn't do now but probably did at 16, and call me on my cell when you get settled in tonight. Alright?" said Lorelai, giving her a cautionary look.

"Yes sir, petty officer sir, I will report to headquarters at twenty double o sharp."

"That's what I like to hear." grinned Lorelai. "Git. Ah'ma be layte fo' my randey-voo with Lukas at the dinah" she swooned, feinting a lovestruck sickness.

Rory made a face of disgust, picked up her duffel and raced to the front steps. She waved bye as her mom sped out the driveway, and then took a deep breath. Turning around, she rang the doorbell.

She knew something was wrong the minute the door opened; it was the butler. His somber face accosted her, and she smiled uneasily. 

"Rory...uh Lorelai...here for Tristan? We're driving to Boston...um.." stammered Rory, nervously watching his reaction. The butler said nothing, just motioned her in. He was used to every excuse under the sun that girls used when they came to the house. Rory felt this and blushed, wondering what he was really thinking.

"Mr. DuGrey is in the solarium," he said haughtily, and pointed her down a richly ornamented hallway.

She followed the expensive Oriental carpet down the spacious hall, gazing at the paintings on the walls curiously; she peeked into rooms surreptitiously, trying to find the right one. She had almost given up hope and declared herself completely lost when she heard a clinking sound.

She entered a spacious room with a huge glass bay window that took up most of one wall; the other walls were stone, with a fireplace as the centerpiece. Huge, soft couches decorated the room as well as a small fountain that twinkled in the semi darkness of the room. There was a built in bar in the wall, and when she peeked over, she saw Tristan's form behind it.

Quietly, she crept into the room, softly calling out his name.

"Tristan....." she whispered, and he whirled around.

An odd sense of fear invaded her as she beheld his face. It was far from calm, turbulent and moody shadows drifting behind the normal facade, his eyes stormy and unsteady. He didn't look well, but he managed to smile, and try.

"Mary, mary. Hey, now that you're in my house, half the work is done. Now just let me liquor you up. What'll you have?" he grinned half heartedly, leaning on the polished mahogany bar counter.

She took a seat at one of the stools, and leaned in confidentially.

"I'm underage, babe. Do I still get that free counseling?" 

"At least some cognac. Or maybe a wine cooler. Spritz?" said Tristan, and plunked down a glass with remarkable expertise, pouring from two bottles at the same time, swirling it, and adding some raspberry juice, half frozen.

"I don't drink," she said firmly, feeling the need to down the whole thing in his presence. "But out of curiosity, what exactly did you make me?" she asked, studying him, trying to get a foot hold. 

"A DuGrey exclusive. Sleeping Beauty," he whispered, leaning in close, his mouth drawing out each movement of sound. Her legs went limp.

"You're a tease," she whispered back, and picked up the drink, taking a tiny sip and feeling the world spin out from under her. It had nothing to do with the alcohol.

He splashed down some gin on the rocks for himself and went to stand by the window in silence. She studied his boyish, lithe, profile against the evening blueness, and felt the sadness seeping out from inside him. He wore a beige crew neck sweater that followed the powerful outlines of his chest and arms, curving over the tight curves of his rear and ending abruptly over the rough, prepster baggy jeans that followed his legs and folded above his expensive Hilfiger shoes. His posture was stand-offish, and yet defeated; it was cocky and assured as ever, but there was a falseness to the angles of his body that she scrutinized carefully. He swallowed the contents of his glass in one breath and swirled the little that was left along the bottom. Pain shone from his eyes, reflected in the light blue darkness. She desperately wanted to turn on a light.

She let her eyes sweep over the room, noticing the beautiful clock on the wall that was undoubtedly a very old, treasured timepiece bought long ago. It's hands seemed to almost sadly watch him along with Rory, and she sighed. 

"Hey, when should we go? Cause it's pretty late and if we wan-"

"I could have known. Even John Kennedy had his affairs, but he should have known she wasn't gonna stay forever."

Rory froze at the chilled tone of his voice; it was full of rage. Tristan turned around to face her, his eyes glinting in the blueness.

"What?" she asked as quietly as possible.

"She was sleeping with the motherfucker right here in this house, up there on that bed where they made me, he was fucking her brains out. How long? Hmm, well we don't know. About two years? One year? Oh c'mon honey, I haven't treated you that bad. Don't go scandalizing, smearing the name. Oh well, too late....everyone will know before long. While my father's in his office in Boston straddling a secretary, she's home alone with Tristan being a damn nuisance. Poor mommy......." hissed Tristan through clenched teeth, squeezing his eyes shut as Rory listened in horror.

"Your mom had an affair....she's leaving?" Rory asked numbly, feeling his pain spearing her.

He nodded, struggling, trying to breathe. His voice was harsh and raw with unbidden emotion.

"Dad has his share. But it was always supposed to be that way. Anyone who's rich does. They fuck each other at Garden Parties and Holiday Parties and the Country Club and Dinners; but I always thought she'd stay. She has no right...." 

His voice broke into silence over that last syllable. A mess of emotions was twisted and tangling his features; she wanted to cry for him.

"I ....when did you find out.....oh ...Tristan...God!"

She watched in horrified disbelief as his hand shook on the glass; he was cold, furious, confused, desperately sad, maddened. Numbly, she watched the crystal fly through the air, beams of diamond light slicing through it's rainbow reflection.

The glass crashed against the fireplace with a terrifying sharp scream of slivers slicing the air around the stone; Rory gasped breathless, shrinking back. 

He stood still, watching the shattered glass on the carpet, the thin liquid seeping in the expensive white Persian rug as though in a horrible nightmare. Groaning, he fell onto the couch, sinking into it, his face in his hands. He felt a hot liquid burning the back of his eyelids, an unfamiliar feeling.

Rory tried to disappear into the wall, her face pale, watching him with eyes wide as the midday sky; the room was cold and sterile, the leather couches cold and unfeeling, the fireplace dead and cool with the memories of a million unlighted fires.

She silently watched Tristan struggling, desperate for a feeling, for anything; not knowing what to do, she acted on some sort of autopilot, creeping towards the fireplace. Numbly, she picked up the shattered glass, feeling a tiny sliver slice through her finger. Too scared to cry out, she confusedly picked up the pieces in her hand, and stared at the translucent shards. Biting back the tears that pooled on the surface of her eyes, she deposited of the glass quickly, and approached the tortured boy on the couch.

With the flutter of slender muscles, she slid in next to him, her hands reaching out towards him in a dance of reluctance; he did not seem to respond, and she felt very old all of a sudden.

"I'm so sad for you," she said, and the words came out simple and clear.

She was not sorry for him. 

The words seemed to drift towards him like clean air, and he breathed them in whole.

"Forgive me," he said through clenched teeth, struggling to hold back the emotion.

"It's not hard to do," her pained voice spoke, and her head rested on his shoulder.

A sudden rush of heat swirled inside him, the hurt welling up in his throat, regret pouring into his eyes, closed to hold her back. Reaching out blindly, he buried himself inside her suddenly, and he shook; his mouth sought to form words that she understood and she rocked him. Holding him close, she crawled into his lap and held his head as he shook, whispering jumbled words into her collarbones. 

"Shhhh, it's alright, don't say anything," she sobbed out, and his hands painfully wrapped themselves around her, crushing her. They clung to each other in the cold, empty room full of accusing, expensive reminders; she held him as tight as she could, afraid he would disappear if she didn't hold on hard enough.

"I need you," he groaned, and she felt a single burning drop between his eye and her skin, as her tears mingled into his hair, leaving it damp. She kissed the top of his head like a mother would, comforting him, when his face snapped up violently.

His mouth was hot and tasted the salt from her tears, mingled with the bitterness in his blue diamond eyes; it conquered her, desperate, his lips seeking solace. Gaining entry, he left her weak and helpless to his touch, and his tongue licked her upper lip right before clashing.

"Don't cry Mary don't, I can't watch you, stop," he whispered madly, dizzy from the heat of her mouth. In the cold room, he'd never felt so frozen; she was the only thing keeping him warm.

"I'm bleeding," she said, a shaky, half crazy smile on her face as she held up her finger.

"Don't, Mary, stop...." he whispered, his mouth dry, as he took one look at her tearstained face. Gently, he took her hand, the slender fingers lost in his own, and held it up, placing the finger to his lips and kissing the cut gently. "Look what I did," he said almost to himself, strangely.

She was silent.

"I didn't mean to scare you, I don't know what to do," he said in a frightened whisper, and she felt the chill of it in her bones.

"We'll find our way through this one too," said Rory gently, and kissed his forehead.

He needed to be just held, but would not have admitted it in a thousand years; Rory knew it, and brought him in close. He was hurting, he was slipping away from her, and she clung to him in fear, not knowing what to do rescue him.

She felt the nervous brush of his lashes against her cheek; cradling the angular, chiseled lines of his face in her hands, she brought his face down slowly until she felt his shaky breath brush her lips. She waited for the tiny kiss that never came; with a terrifying need, his mouth crashed against her, teeth knocking, tongues intertwining, fiery kisses planted one after the next. Their breath poured out in desperate gasps. Rory died and awoke inside his mouth, his lips that fiercely caressed hers and left her legs weak and useless. He kissed the tears off her cheeks, her eyelids, her mouth, her ears, her forehead; her mouth received him, soft and warm and weakened. She moaned against his lips, sending an electric current through him.

He reached out to her, every emotion raw and open, and she leaned back for a moment to look at his face. Her tears had left damp trails down his cheeks; his hair was tousled, his mouth slightly swollen, and his eyes were wild and bright. Closing his eyes shut with pain, he brought her in and kissed her slow and deep.

She was losing her head. Promises filtered out and in like shadows between sunlight, forgotten the moment they disappeared; she tried to gain a hold of her sanity, but her mind was reeling with each new current. Quicksilver flooded her veins, pounding madly, and desperately tried to resist only to find out she didn't want to.....with shock she realized he was driving her completely insane and she wanted it......

Slowly, he rolled on top of her, engulfing her with his body; it was warm, heavy steel, tightly wound to bone, lithe and sinewy. He laid soft kisses on her face in a desperately sad way, on her neck, on her eyelids, soft kiss after kiss, falling like snowflakes on her soft skin. With a vague sensation of shock, she felt his hand slip up her thigh, hesitating as though for approval, before it gently spread her legs apart. Her blood burned wild under her skin, the currents growing, jolting her with their electricity. The want inside her was bigger than she could have ever imagined, and she felt hollow and empty. He crushed her with kisses, her hands wandering the contours of his back, of the athletic framework and hardened shoulders and back as they rippled and moved softly under her fingers; she pressed him closer, as if trying to absorb all the hurt.

"Oh...God...Rory....." was the muffled moan as her hands slipped under his shirt, caressing the vast smooth expanse of his skin that covered steel like silk. Her hands slipped to his stomach, tracing the muscles that flowed in his abdomen. His innocent boyish face, so full of need and hurt burrowed into her neck, and she felt the soft, downy fragrance of his hair brushing her cheek. He breathed her into his mouth, tasting her peppermint and cinnamon smell that paralyzed him. 

Rory suddenly came back to her senses as she felt his hand slip up her shirt, softly tracing tiny wandering pathways upward. She reeled back, and Tristan sprang up. The two sat next to each other silently, their breathing labored, fighting not to touch, fighting to regain control.

"I'm sorry," he said, his mouth dry.

She nodded, dazed, realizing where it could have gone in a short matter of time. She was dizzy and left wanting, the sweet desire still coursing under her veins. She felt transparent.

"It was the wrong thing to do at the time....." she managed to reply, and grabbed her head in her hands. There was a terrific headache in the works.

"What now?" he asked numbly, and she turned, to realize that she had left him in a shaken state.

"Oh Tris, I'm so sorry, what the hell was I thinking? It was the last thing you needed right then, I'm such an idiot..please......do-"

"No, no no! Stop, it was the right thing. I just needed to feel....something.....just to make sure I was still alive....." he replied weakly, standing up abruptly. "I'll be...right back. It's too late to leave now. We'll figure it out in the morning. You can take the guest room." said Tristan, leading her up the stairs.

Rory silently unpacked and showered quickly, and slipped into some innocent, pink pajamas. She brushed her hair and dried it, took a deep breath, and quietly exited her room. She walked down the hallway until she saw a partially open door. Hoping against hope, she pushed it open, relieved to find it was his room. She had tendency to get lost in his house.

"Tristan?" she called out uncertainly, looking around. 

"Out here," was the reply, and she looked towards the curtains. They fluttered softly, and in that moment she noticed the open space behind them. Surprised, she stepped out on a decorative balcony with iron bars. Probably added as some cute outside deco to the house.....she thought, looking out. 

He was sitting on the cement with his back against the bars, looking up at the shimmering stars inside the vast sky. They softly glowed diamond in the inky indigo sky, seeming to tremble in their dazzling brightness. He wore only a wifebeater and soft pajama bottoms, and he was smoking a cigarette. His handsome features were softly profiled in the little light provided. She studied the soft, curious shape of his mouth and the liquid that glimmered in his eyes. He took a deep drag and tilted his head back.

"I wanted to apologize. I'm....not usually.. I mean....." she stammered softly, blushing a little.

"I know. I know you're not usually........that's why I shouldn't have. It was my fault. Don't worry about it. I must say you do seem to have a certain knack for comforting those in pain....I wouldn't go calling Mother Theresa with an application just though yet..." he grinned a little, and she almost cried in relief.

They sat in silence for a little, looking at the sky.

"I wish you wouldn't," Rory said, and he knew what she meant. Taking one last drag, he flicked the cigarette between the iron bars to the ground below.

"Can't help it." he said simply, staring at his fingers.

"It's not a good addiction." she countered, just wanting to talk.

Tristan took a deep breath and looked up to her with a look that left her weak and dizzy, a look so deep and completely unsearchable that she wondered if she could get lost in it. He tilted his head back, his face somber, his eyes glowing deeply in the dark, glimmering in their sapphire radiance.

"I have a lot of bad addictions. Cigarettes. Making trouble. Flirting." 

He paused.

"You." he finished, the last word stunning and poignant in it's simplicity. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled at her, and suddenly leaned over to place a rough, hungry kiss on her mouth that she immediately sank into.

They broke.

"Your cigarette mouth tastes disgusting..." she whispered, grinning.

"I think you want me anyway," he said, in a soft, seductive voice, kissing her neck.

"Go brush your teeth, Casanova." grinned Rory.

"I prefer Romeo. It's more...accurate. Delicate." he murmured in her collarbone.

"I do believe he only got lucky once. I don't think you fit the description." she said dryly, giggling at the tiny kisses he placed along her shoulders.

"Hey, you know zilch about my love life. Why do you just assume I'm a whore?" Tristan whined, teasingly nibbling at a bra strap he had uncovered at the top of her shoulder.

"Cause you're really good at this."

"Natural talent," he replied.

"I bet. Like Paris has a natural talent for charm. Is there a reason...oh that tickles!" she laughed, pushing him away. His eyes begged puppy dog sad.

"I'm the picture of innocence," he said, and at the moment, his adorable lips in a pout, his hair tousled and his eyes gleaming mischievously, she almost believed him.

"Off to bed you go. You're not winning any Oscars for that performance right there, so brush your teeth and stop the impressionism, Satan." said Rory.

"Question; why is it you call me that? Is it because I lead you into temptation?" he leered, licking his lips, doing his best to unnerve her.

"And that's my cue. Goodnight Prince of Darkness. We'll meet again at dawn when your powers dispel." 

"Oh I see how it is. One little offensive comment and all your comfort and sympathy's gone. Don't ask me to refer you to Mother Theresa. I've changed my mind." Tristan sulked.

"Eh, make a booty call from your little black book, er....huge black archives....is the better word....someone'll come comfort you."

"Rory," he cautioned, and they raised to their feet.

"Adios. Hope the bedbugs bite," grinned Rory, and marched off towards the door.

Tristan watched her for a second, and as she grasped the door handle, his eyes softened, and he called out to her.

"Mary, don't go," he said quietly.

She froze.

"That was a cheap shot, DuGrey," she whispered into the darkness. "Cheap."

"I know," he whispered back, closing the distance between them as she turned around.

His arms wrapped around softly, enveloping her in a safe, warm, and dizzying embrace.

"Just in case I have nightmares?" he murmured softly in her ear, and heard her sigh.

"Are you gonna hog the sheets?" she asked, letting herself relax in his firm hold.

"Never," he whispered in a serious tone that made her let out a tired, tiny laugh.

They crawled into his huge bed, careful to put a little distance in between, all too aware of what could too easily happen. 

She reached out a finger, and he linked one of his with it. They faced each other, separated and connected, everything flowing like electricity through that tiny link.

"How come I can't say no when you call me that?" she said quietly, her words losing themselves in the dark.

"Because," he answered, and she already knew. "Got another lullaby for you."

"Oh no."

"No singing. Just words."

"Can I complain?" Rory said sleepily, already feeling her eyelids getting heavy.

"Nope. But you have to c'mere so I can whisper it to you. I only want you to hear it." Tristan said impishly, pulling her close.

Too tired to protest, she rolled over into the warm embrace of his gentle arms.

"_You make a mess of me,"_ he whispered, his mouth buried in her soft hair.

"_I'll dance a thousand steps for you"_

"If you say yes to me..." he continued.....

"_I'll be whatever gets you through." _

"You make a mess of me...." he smiled softly into her fragrant neck, her hair...

"_I'll dance a thousand steps for you..."_

"Mmmmm....." murmured Rory into his chest.

__

"Was I fool to think, am I fool for you," Tristan concluded the softly whispered words, watching her lashes fan out on her cheeks, on her sweet child-like face. Placing a gentle kiss on her forehead, he let her drift off, thinking about the words. They'd played over in his head since the day he'd seen her. They came back to him tonight.

He fell asleep uneasily, awaken by a shrill phonecall at six in the morning.

The caller was insistent; groggy and irritated, he reached over Rory and grabbed the portable.

"H-low?" he mumbled incoherently.

"Hey babe," said the clear voice, and he sat up violently, abruptly, his blood running cold.

"Maggie.....Longbourne-Sheffield...." he said half nervously, half furiously.

"You still remember my voice. Good sign." the low, sultry contralto giggled on the other end. "I'm in town. I want to do you...ooops....see you?" 

"I thought we agreed I'd never hear your voice again," said Tristan coolly, watching Rory apprehensively. She just murmured a intelligible phrase and drifted off again.

"Oh, I'm hurt. But still dauntless. I forgot to never call you in the morning; your current bed-fellow might get feisty. But you'll be hearing from lil' Mags again. Ciao," the voice said breezily, and hung up.

Tristan hung up the phone slowly.

He was scared; chilled, unsure. The sound of her voice was murder, her words stabbing him. Rory was in his bed. But Maggie wouldn't understand the fact that they weren't screwing, they were just.....different......

Were they?

He cursed at himself violently. Of course we are. You want her for more than just looks. You're in love with Rory. It's Maggie's fucking games, always confusing you, always messing you up. Bitch. No, no way in hell! Rory was in his bed not because he'd slammed her last night. It was because they were friends. Huge difference. 

Breathing a sigh of relief at the fix up of the momentary madness that had come with hearing that voice, he cuddled back under the covers.

But inside, he knew something terrible was going to happen.

Left that hanging.....didn't I......the notorious seducer is back in town. Tristan's not immune to her....can love hold him? Ah, nothing like a rich, beautiful f****d up girl to add some spice to the picture. For all confused, instead of going on the field trip, they're staying at Tristan's house. Not planned ahead of time..but....

Anyway, next chap.'s in the works. I would love it if you let me know what you thought of this one, love it hate it...just drop a little line.

Luce


	2. The Perfect Seduction.

TA-DA! Here's the second part! Oh you're gonna love this one....the great seducer cometh....this girl is a cross between Gisele and the infamous Julia Roberts Maggie. 100% pure seduction. Intelligent. Irresistible. Dumb sluts...beware...girls ....lock up your boyfriends. But what will Tristan do? Give in or ....hold on? Read and find out. But it won't be the last time you'll see Mags. Oh, she'll be quite back. I bumped up the rating as one of my reviewers suggested, for language; this chapter is dedicated to all those who reviewed, Angel Grace for once addicting me once again, Anna (like the hannibal reference?), brokenflower, and all that is trory. let the games begin.

disclaimer on first ch.

enjoy.

luce

6:00 a.m.

A hand fumbled across the dresser, knocking a small picture down before it hit the alarm clock with a vengeance, sending it skittering off the dresser and onto the floor and silencing it. Groaning, Tristan sat up, rubbing his eyes to shake the sleep off. The covers fell away from his body as he crawled out of bed, shedding what little clothing he had on the way to the shower. He turned up the hot water so it almost singed, and sighed a small sigh of content. Lathering his body up, he began to hum along with the shower radio.

7:00 a.m.

With a satisfied smirk, he pulled the tie, adjusting it, and admired his profile in the mirror. The suit fell over his frame gracefully, the broad shoulders and chest prominent, the blue of his eyes dazzling. A quick hand through his hair with a little gel, a smile that would land a GQ cover, and a leer that could turn knees into useless joints made of pudding instead of cartilage. He was ready for school. He almost wanted to laugh out loud.

"I'm too sexy for my shirt, I'm too sexy for my pants" he snapped his fingers and shook his ass, strutting out of the room with the mad desire to die of laughter. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He didn't care. Smelling the aroma of hazelnut coffee from the kitchen, he thought of Rory instantly; the smirk transformed into a grin, and he licked his lips. Taking a long drink, he poured some into a Styrofoam cup with a snap lid and stuck it in his Porsche's cup holder. Throwing his bag in the back, he turned up the music, letting the heavy base from the state-of-the-art speakers in the back pulse through him. Putting down the windows, he shrieked out of the driveway, tires burning, and sped down the road. 

8:00 a.m.

"Hello Clarice," came a sinister, low whisper behind her.

Rory jumped and bit her tongue in her effort to suppress a scream. She'd never been good with scary movies.

"God Tristan, don't do that! You made me bite my tongue!" she spat, putting a finger insider her mouth to make sure she wasn't bleeding.

"I'm sorry.." he begged, puppy dog eyes full force. "I was running out of special ways to greet you. I brought you coffee. Will that make it better?" 

"Maybe," said Rory unrelentingly, taking the steaming cup.

"If not, I think a good massage should do it," he whispered in her ear, catching her off guard. She shook it off, suppressing the smile that threatened to swallow her face.

"Speaking of which, my fist would love to massage your face. Not only did you not return my No Doubt CD yet but you made me bite my tongue and now you're sexually harassing me."

"Suck it up." Tristan grinned.

"That's it. You're on probation. Don't speak to me till you've redeemed yourself." Rory snapped, and marched away. 

"Rory! Wait!" he called, catching up to her.

"Do I hear something? Must be my subconscious yelling at me again. Why are you nice to Tristan, Rory? Huh? I thought I taught you better than that, but there you go again, giving him time to apologize.." she said out loud to herself.

"Here," he said simply, shoving a book at her.

She stopped still, her mouth open in a silent little o. Slowly, she took the book, her fingers running over the glossy cover. She looked up at him.

"Where did you find this? I've been looking for Maud Martha for the longest time ever but Barnes and Noble didn't have any Gwendolyn Brooks books at the moment and I didn't know where to lo-"

"Doesn't matter," he said shortly, cutting off her dazed rambling. The bell rang.

"Seya," he said, taking off down the hallway in the opposite direction.

She stood still among the streams of people around her. 

"Tristan!" she suddenly yelled. Several people turned their heads and passed, but he turned around and stopped, grinning.

She started walking towards him quickly, and he headed in her direction.

"You bastard! You think you can get away with anything! Well I'll have you know that bringing me some book I've been wanting forever when you didn't have to and when you probably bought it is not gonna get you off the hook because you made me bite my ton-"

His mouth closed in on hers, and pressed against it hungrily, caressing for a soft moment before breaking.

She grinned against his mouth, leaning back, still smiling. 

"You're welcome," he whispered, smirking, his eyes brilliant.

She shook her head, her dazzling smile lighting up the vast deep sky blue, and slung her arms around his neck.

"You didn't have to," she said softly.

"It was just a thank you...of sorts...for staying Friday. I'm sorry for ....acting the way I did. I didn't mean to take advantage of the situation. I know you don't get around like that, but I didn't know what I was doing at the moment. I just wanted to let you know that you don't have to compromise yourself for me. I'm fucked up and you're not. Let's keep it that way." he said, with a half serious, quiet smile. 

"You're a work in progress, let's put it that way," she said dryly, with a grin.

"You're too nice to me."

"That I won't deny," Rory laughed and headed towards her class.

Waving once, Tristan ran a hand through his hair, put on his misdemeanor extraordinaire look and sauntered into the classroom with a hard, careless look and a leer for the girls that looked up at him. His friends acknowledged him; he nodded back as he sank into a seat, and the teacher eyed him warily.

He slumped in the desk, pulling out a stack of papers and a pencil.

His mind was listening, but he was drifting inside somewhere. In his seat sat a shell of him that kept everyone happy and quiet while his imagination wandered through memories and fantasies, ideas and regrets, and most of all, the troubling phone call.

He recalled the way she bit her red stained bottom lip that made him crave her instantly; the long legs that slowly emerged from the white fur coat, the slim, lanky bronzed figure with moist skin and assets that were impossible to miss. Swallowing air, he felt a headache coming on. God. 

His fingers had traced their way up the inside of her thigh, where in curious desire they stopped over the tattoo.

"My father's coat of arms," she'd whispered, her tongue on the rim of his earlobe. "What you buy is what you get. It increases my market price," she giggled deliciously, a sultry, sweet, girlish sound. His fingers traveled upward.......

"Mr. DuGrey!" 

His head snapped up to face the angry teacher. Maintaining his cool.

"Theory of Relativity in relation to Einstein, formulated to express the mass in relation to the energy." he answered coolly, and everyone stared.

Flustered, the teacher resumed her lesson.

He put his head in his hands, forcing himself to pick up a pencil. His throat was dry. He thought of Rory, of her smile, her innocent arms thrown around his neck, the sweet smile that warmed him. Maggie had left him cold. Cold but god, how good she'd made cold feel for a little while.....

Groaning silently, he forced himself to concentrate.

You will not give in. You will not lose this. You will not fuck up.

Not this time. 

Not anymore.

Rory curled up on the couch with a bowl of carrot sticks. Humming, she turned the pages of her book, with a sheer smile of ecstasy. She had already finished the first chapter, a carrot dangling halfway out of her mouth; her eyes were wide in concentration, so absorbed in the book that she didn't even hear the door slam.

"Wow, look at that, she's reading. I'm shocked. Must be a good book," said Lorelai wryly, suppressing a grin.

"Why do you say that...." mumbled Rory, not lifting her eyes.

"You've been in mid-chew for a minute now," laughed Lorelai, and Rory looked up and guiltily swallowed.

"It is," Rory said earnestly, going back to the book.

"Alright.......I see three's company....I'll leave...." 

"No, wait," said Rory determinedly, putting down her book. "There. Tell me how your day was."

"God-awful. I had a mad urge to hannibalize Michel. I just kept thinking how cute his brain would look on those little wheat crackers Sookie makes." groaned Lorelai.

"Let me guess, he was flirting with your mother on the phone again." giggled Rory.

"Worse. But never mind Michel, Sookie broke her nail and lost it in the cinnamon roll dough. Our poor guests had only icing to eat, and I think I pulled a muscle in my hip."

"Poor baby. Must be getting old, pretty soon I'll have to put you in a nursing home." joked Rory.

"Hey missy, respect my whines and woes. As for the nursing home comment, you will feed me and change my diapers till the day I pass on to the happy hunting grounds, or my ghost will come back to haunt you and mysteriously afflict you with barrenness so that you will never produce any children, and no one will give your father any sheep or gold for you."

"Oh no, what about my tribe! Who will lead our people into the promised land if I have no children?" moaned Rory in mock terror.

"Your pets." grinned Lorelai.

"You forget we're incapable of having any. In every kind of way."

"Yuck, child. We could get a goldfish. You don't have to clean after it."

"A goldfish would lead our people to the promised lands? Right. Besides, if I know you, if you ran out of those little fish-kabob things at our next cookout, you'll scoop that sucker right out and barbecue it and serve it to Miss Patty. Our tribe is doomed to end. Our family tree is thus logged to become a dresser." sighed Rory.

"A little dramatic, aren't we. By the way, where did you get that book?" said Lorelai, plopping down on the couch next to Rory.

"Uh, Tristan," admitted Rory a little reluctantly.

"I see. Oh yeah, remind me to find those eyelet pillowcases for your dowry." deadpanned Lorelai.

"Ok, Seinfeld," glared Rory. "I don't see any cameras. Is this Comedy Central?"

"Ooh, I love it when you're touchy. Say, what's going on with you two? I want in. It's like, you're friends who just happen to accidentally kiss now and then or you're dating or you hate each other or he's wooing-"

"Who says wooing anymore?" interrupted Rory peevishly.

"I just did," snapped Lorelai. "So, what's the deal? And please be kind enough to explain to me why you never went on that field trip and instead showed up back here at home on Saturday afternoon. I was too busy to quiz you yesterday, but the inquisition is on. Don't make me threaten you with the rack."

"Tristan found out that his parents were splitting right before I came over. Turns out his mom had an affair. It's a mess, a complete debacle, the boy was a wreck, I played Mother Theresa with some Chicken Soup and tucked him in and then slept on his couch. Saturday we wake up and he drives me home. I mean to tell you right away, I'm really sorry if you were worried. You know I'm always good. But that night, he was a mess and I would not have wanted to get in the car with him."

"Ah, I see." said Lorelai, falling silent for a moment. Sighing, she rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of things, thinking about the boy.

"You've got a lot of work to do, Rory. I know you've started to like him, but the arrangement you have right now will have to do for the moment. Just be friends as much as you can, and try to help him; but you know as well as I do that as much as he likes you, he's still a playboy. If he takes advantage, it won't be because he wants to hurt you, it'll be because he won't be able to help himself. So try to put that distance, will ya? Just for my peace of mind."

"I know mom, but he's doing better, I swear he is. Or was till Friday. God, what a mess his life is."

"I know, but that's exactly what I'm trying to save you from. He's not strong enough to keep himself from pulling you into that mess, because he's not strong enough to step out of it. He's got a past to deal with." said Lorelai earnestly, observing Rory to see if she understood.

Rory sighed, and leaned her head on her mother's shoulder.

"I know, sometimes it's so hard though..." she whispered, and Lorelai stroked her head.

"It will be the hardest thing you've done yet," said Lorelai comfortingly. "But, he loves you, whether he knows you or not. I know myself when I see it in others...and the boy reminds me of myself too much."

"Let's hope so," murmured Rory.

"Luke's?" asked Lorelai, pointing to the door.

"Of course," grinned Rory. "Why do you even ask?"

The two ran towards the diner, the cold air settling a rosy blush over their cheeks; Luke watched them come in with a grin that disappeared when Lorelai bounced up to the counter. Instead, his usual stoic countenance greeted her.

"Morning, Grinch. Christmas is coming, shouldn't you be out there tying antlers to your dog and figuring out how to get down the chimney so you can steal the present I got you?" smiled Lorelai, sliding onto a bar stool. Rory joined her.

"You got me a present? Waste of your money," muttered Luke, one eyebrow raised.

"Of course. It's big, it's glorious, it's marvelously tacky and ridiculously under-priced."

"I wouldn't expect less. Coffee?" he asked, plopping down two mugs.

The two sat in shock. 

"What?" Luke said innocently, enjoying their expressions.

"We haven't begged yet! You can't do this! It's breach of tradition!" ranted Lorelai, glaring at him.

"Take away the cups before she has a coronary, Luke," grinned Rory.

"Okay," he sighed, and attempted to take the cups. Two sets of hands slapped his arms away.

"Evil coffee man, trying to take my poor little mug. Much better. Now fill 'er up." commanded Lorelai, and Luke complied. 

Outside, small flakes had started drifting to the ground like tiny frozen rain kisses from the sky.

The road was becoming slick; should've left Trenton's house earlier, Tristan thought to himself regretfully. Carefully with a sharp preciseness, he guided the car around the curves that led to the driveway. It was dark already, and he knew his parents were home tonight. Don't let them get mad at me, he prayed silently, wondering why he cared now of all times.

Pulling into the spacious winding drive and through the gates, he pulled up in front of his house. Curious, he realized there was a black Lincoln Towncar limousine he vaguely recognized in the driveway. Inside, a chauffer sat, nodding along to some music. The house was well lighted, glowing in the dark with golden lamplight through the misty curtained windows; snowflakes drifted past the soft shine of the lights, making the stone facade warmer. For a moment he was amazed at how homey it looked despite it's sheer grandiose proportions. Shaking off the feeling bitterly when he remembered what awaited inside, he slammed the door and ran up the front steps. Unlocking it with his key, he tumbled into the lobby, shivering.

From a lushly decorated room not too far in the distance, he could hear voices, controlled laughter like the tinkle of champagne glasses floating through the hall; polite chuckles and amusing anecdotes shared, meanwhile digging in hints about who's the wealthiest, thought Tristan wryly.

Wonder who's here, was his last absent thought, before he entered the living room.

The crystal chandelier sprinkled his face with a million diamond lights and blinded him for a moment; dazed, he looked around the cream and gold room decorated with ferns and classic furniture, and focused on the four faces.

"Tristan, son, you're home. Elizabeth, Warner, you remember Tristan, our son." said his father's alarmingly friendly voice. His heart stopped cold at the next words.

"Tristan, you remember the Sheffields." 

He took a deep breath and looked at the well bred, polite faces in front of his. Elizabeth's pearls glimmered around her throat; her green eyes pierced him. No, he begged silently. No.

"A pleasure," he replied suavely, with a charming smile that instantly won her.

"Maggie's somewhere around the house, wandering, no doubt. She wanted to see you, perhaps you should find her," said Elizabeth smoothly, with a perfect smile. Her green eyes froze him, followed him.

"Thanks, I will," he replied, his voice in perfect control. "May I?" he said to his father, and waited for the nod to slip out of the room.

He saw himself in the hallway mirror as he passed; taking a moment, he put his head in his hands, praying desperately. His mind cleared slowly, he took a deep, long breath, and looked at himself in the mirror. A little pale, but composed.

He ran up the semi dark stairs, following the little wall lamps to his room; with a certain instinct, he sensed her from far away. Prepared for the blow, he opened the door. 

There was a one single lamp turned on in the room; it cast a dark, shadowy glow over everything, catching a few objects with it's dim gold glow. There was a figure standing in front of the mirror, her head bent; she was looking at something. The girl was tall, with long, lithe, sexy legs tanned a moist bronze that glistened with a slight sheen in the lamplight; they poured out of a khaki trench coat tied at the slim waist; damp looking, messy strands of golden blond hair descended and cascaded from the top of her head, and she lifted her head and looked in the mirror.

They made eye contact in the glass. She did not turn around.

He was held still to the spot, pinned by those clear green eyes like spring grass; her lips were stained red, yet bare and sensual. They slowly stretched into a smile that sent him mentally reeling. 

She turned around slowly.

He could see where the folds of the Burberry raincoat met the gold sheen of her flesh on her chest, the bare space tempting. For a mad second he thought she was wearing nothing underneath. Regaining his composure, he refused to follow the curve of her leg that showed in a dizzying ascent through the opening in the coat when she slowly sat down on his desk.

She licked her lips, teasing, already slowly driving him insane.

"Hey Tristan," she said in her clear, low, smooth voice. "Miss me much?"

He fought to regain composure. All that flashed through his eyes was the arch of her back.

"Breaking and entering, I see. I'd say you missed me more. Had a long trip?" he said coolly, seemingly unaffected. Maybe she was the queen of the game, but he had invented it.

She shrugged. 

"Only two hours, took the Concord from London. Good to see you again." she said quietly, playing cat and mouse. Come closer, come closer......

"How's life been treating you?" he managed, retaining his calm.

"Worse since you left," she answered, watching him from under her eyelashes; her eyes glistened with a pale pure gold sheen on the lids, making the green icy and limpid. 

He nodded, tense.

"We should go down for dinner," he said, turning.

"Tristan." 

The voice was a deathless song; it froze him on the spot, a million chilled memories descending through him through that contralto. She pulled him like a puppet.

"You know," she said, her warm breath close to his ear from behind, "in Europe it's customary to kiss upon greeting...."

His knees were weak. Tristan, whose knees were never weak for anyone...except....

"Rory," he answered firmly, stepping away. 

One eyebrow rose incredulously. Tristan had stepped away. This was unbelievable. Her eyes turned impatient.

"What's a Rory?" she laughed, and a million flutters raced under his veins.

"Rory's her name, and I'm not available. You should probably keep your distance. Maggie, you were fabulous once upon a time. But, I have promises to keep for once. Sorry." he said steadily, looking her straight in the eye.

"Rory, Rory," her voice said petulantly, a naughty pout on her face. She started wandering around the room. "Sounds so....quaint.....let me guess, goes to your school? Small town girl I bet. She's a Mary, isn't she. God Tristan, when are you men going to get it....virgins aren't the shit...they never were....." she said poignantly. 

Carelessly, she undid the tie around the waist, letting the dark wine red silk of the tight dress underneath slip out. It clung to her fabulous body in a way that made his throat dry. He refused to look at her directly. The plunging neckline accosted him.

"She's small town, and she's different, and I'm determined. I don't particularly give a shit about what you say. We're way past the point where I was chasing you," he said coolly, and his eyes were unsteady. She didn't miss a single twitch.

"Tristan, Tristan," she sighed, languidly tossing back the blonde, irregular clumps of soft tresses that clung to her neck in tendrils. It gleamed like precious gold. "When will you give up your little fantasy games? You always want what you have to chase. Look at you. She lives in a different world than you completely. Whoever she is, she might as well be on another planet. You and me, we're incredibly fucked up......we belong together.....only people like us. We drink Cristal in gold and cream dining rooms and feel each other up under the table, we take yachts down to the Greek islands and float on the Mediterranean blue from island to island. What does she have in common with you? How could she understand you?"

Tristan felt dizzy under the spell of her words; she seemed to reel him in invisibly, pulling out his fears and secret questions. He felt nauseous.

"You can't go around fucking up other innocent people, babe," she whispered, coming up from behind, and resting her chin on his shoulder, her pout like a little child's. He stood silently and watched their reflection in the mirror.

"Besides, here's another question; does she know about all the things you've done?" she said deliciously, laying a damp kiss on his neck like a butterfly touch.

Tristan could not respond.

"That's what I thought," Mags grinned. "I doubt she would appreciate your history in bed. Let's see. Hmmm.....was it three times that night? Four? Mmmm.........My legs get weak just thinking about it......" she whispered. " And was I the only one ever? Oh....I highly doubt that......"

He was paralyzed. She brought her body close, gluing it to his back, her hands creeping up the front of his chest, slowly sliding over him, down, over the flat, hard stomach..down.....the long, slim fingers traced the top of the belt buckle.......he was going mad...his body was failing him...... he let out a soft groan as her lips brushed against his neck again. 

A flash of blue. A serene smile. 

Rory.

"Stop," was his sharp command, as he shook her off, horrified. His body protested, and he fought it against his own will. "Forget it Mags, I can't do this. I'm sorry you don't believe me."

Her face registered displeased shock, then, it was calm and impassioned again. Maggie Longbourne Sheffield was not one to be easily affected. Nor was she one to easily give up. She licked her red stained lips, the tip of her tongue holding his full stare, and adjusted her skirt; slipping into the coat again, she gave him a mysterious smile that frightened him senseless.

"I'll believe you don't want to right now. I know you can," she grinned, making him silently groan as her innuendo laced words hit him. "But trust me, if she knew all the shit you haven't told her babe, that girl wouldn't lay lips on you if you held a gun to her head; don't believe me? Try. And when she runs off crying, here's my cell phone number."

She took a red lipstick out of her purse and wrote the number in precise letters on the mirror. Putting it back in the Fendi slouch bag with the woven jacquard, she passed him, a slight trace of her spicy, sweet perfume lingering in her wake. He watched her legs and rear hungrily as they swung down the hallway in a model walk. Maggie had always done everything stunningly, even if it was just walking.

Taking a deep breath, he sat down on his bed, weak from the strenuous encounter. Every fiber of his body had wanted her relentlessly, while his mind had cried out. He felt water flood his muscles from the restraint now relaxed. For a moment he allowed himself to remember a few private moments that made his whole body shudder. Determinedly closing those off, he sprawled out and tried to think clearly.

Jesus........he cursed weakly, thinking of what he had just turned down.

Rory.

The word made him stronger. But Maggie's frightening words sliced through him; a pang of fear shot through his mind as he acknowledged that it might be true. What if Maggie was right? What if Rory knew everything? Would she still want to love him?

Nausea hit; he refused to give in to it. Dear Mags would be proved wrong. He would do as she had told him, and would triumph. He copied the number on the mirror with a vicious thrill. He would prove her wrong, for once and for all.

Quieted, he carefully put the number in his wallet. He formulated a few quiet plans, took a deep breath, and headed to the bathroom. Quickly washing his face and hands, he still felt dirty; toweling off, he ran a hand through his hair and headed downstairs.

The instant charmer smile hit full force again.

"Good, here you are, we were about to call you. Dinner is being served." said his mother with an even smile. He took his place and politely unfolded his napkin. Two sets of green eyes followed his movements. He looked up with his crystal blue ones, casting a discreetly leering glance at both. Both were romanced at once. Tristan's father laughed a hearty laugh, patting his son on the back.

" Top 5% in his class, that's our boy. Did I tell you that-"

Tristan paid no more attention to the asinine conversation, planning and thinking steadily through dinner, avoiding the jade green eyes. A foot caressed his leg and slid slowly upwards his calf under the table. He shook it off politely, careful not to attract attention. He was about to shoot a pointed look in Maggie's direction when he looked at both sets of eyes and realized he could not tell which was the perpetrator. He watched them glare at each other, the thin hatred and the sheer disgusting nature of it all shooting through him. 

"May I be excused, I think I'm going to be sick," he said to his father, looking at him directly.

His father began a frown, changed his mind, and smiled a condescending, fake, concerned smile.

"Of course. You look it."

Slamming the front door, the boy raced towards his car. Unconcerned about the snow that was falling around him heavily now, he screeched out of the driveway, skidding on the wet pavement. His muscles strained in an effort to control the car, and he managed to stop the spin. Breathing heavily, scared, he paused for a second. 

Carefully, he sped out of the driveway, driving as fast as he could without losing control. His muscles hurt from the tense grip on the wheel and the gears, and from frantically overworking the stick; he pressed the gas carefully, tapping the brakes lightly. Sheer insanity, was the thought that played through his mind.

Stopping in front of the small, homey house he closed his door with a slam; snowflakes clung to his hair and eyelashes and to the light blue soft cotton polo he wore over the low-slung khakis that cradled his hips. Shivering, he stood outside in the cold, listening to the laughter inside as the two girls made their way towards the doorbell. His heart hurt, his eyes tearing up from the cold.

The door open, revealing two incredulous faces.

"Tristan?" gasped Rory, looking at the shivering figure.

"I had to talk to you, I had to, now, I'm sorry but I couldn-" he managed before Lorelai grabbed him, snatching him inside the house.

"You crazy-ass idiot what the hell possessed you to go driving in this weather, yes, I know Rory's fabulous but she's nowhere near THAT fabulous-"

"Hey," interrupted Rory.

"so you should know better, and where the hell are your parents? What are you doing?" she finished as she hustled him into the living room and rushed to the linen closet for a towel.

His strange laugh made Lorelai's heart sink; she recognized it all too well. Of course. Why had she even bothered to ask about his parents?

She threw the towel to Rory who began to hurriedly dry his hair, his arms, his face and brushed the snowflakes off him before they began to melt. Lorelai was making coffee in the kitchen. Tristan sighed and sank back into the couch, his eyes tired.

He turned towards Rory.

"I have something to tell you..." he said, and watched her draw a sharp breath as she observed his expression.

"It's not a good thing...I can tell.." she said softly, her mind slowly and quietly beginning to pull out her fears and unfold them as she became numb.

"No, no, don't get worried; don't be scared," he implored as he watched her shrink away. "It's definitely not what you're probably thinking...you'll probably hate me but I have to do this, you see? I have to," he concluded lamely, his sentence unfinished, her eyes wide and full with unreadable emotions.

"Well you can tell her after you get warmed up," said Lorelai, plunking down a coffee cup in front of him. "Drink. Life will be restored to your body. I'm gonna go dig up some old sweats and shirts of Christopher's for you, and you'll go take a hot shower since you're still shivering. Didn't you turn the heat on in the car?" she frowned.

It hadn't occurred to Tristan.

Lorelai shook her head in disbelief, muttering as she headed upstairs.

Tristan turned towards Rory, his mouth suddenly numb; in her innocent beauty, lit softly by the bright lamplight, he forgot the enigma in the Burberry khaki trench coat....

"Rory....I......"

There's the second installment. He resisted once. But if he resists twice....that will all depend on what Rory does...an unexpected twist in the plot about to come up. Pesky snow....... will trap a few select people....where? Did you say Luke's? Who? Did you say Jess? WHAT? did you say bad boy.....fight...or...alliance? Now I'm getting ahead of myself. Please let it be in your heart to review my humble little ficcie.....or drop me a line, love it hate it whatever. I welcome all those who write...


	3. The Silence in the Storm.

Here's the next chapter! hope you like it as well as the first two. Everything comes out in the open and is hung out like laundry; but what to do with it! Emotions rage.....the weather rages....people rage....lots of rage...coming up, and of course, the fabulous Maggie will make her return, no worries. I'm just giving her a small break.

disclaimer, first ch.

enjoy.

luce

"Hey!" interrupted Lorelai. "Hot shower first. I won't allow pneumonia catching in this house. Your lungs couldn't handle it."

"I'm cutting back, you know," he said with a trace of rebelliousness, but a weak smile. He knew she was right.

"Hey you know they make orange flavored Nico-gum now," Rory chirped brightly.

His head was splitting in two; he wanted to scream, focus! Instead, he gave in to their soothing maternal worries. Sinking into the couch, he almost wanted to sob at the warmth he felt around him. His mind laughed at him, and he thought of Maggie's clear, ringing laugh if he were to tell her he had wanted to cry because he felt warm. God, you're an idiot, DuGrey, he thought to himself. 

He let the hot water run over his head, into his mouth, over his body as he stood in the shower with his eyes closed. Tempted to think of Maggie, instead, he desperately focused on warming up.

Toweling off, he stood in the middle of the bathroom awkwardly, suddenly realizing the obvious.

He cracked the door open, looked around, and seeing no one, stepped into the hallway.

Suddenly, Lorelai popped around the corner, holding some clothes. Taking a quick look at the shivering boy in the hallway, she laughed.

"Rory, naked boy alert! Quick! Hide in your room!" she yelled out good naturedly, and Tristan had to grin in spite of himself.

"Quite the exhibitionist, aren't we," she quipped, throwing the clothes at him. He caught them easily. "I'd better sashay along now," she said in a girly Southern drawl. "My motha wouldn't like me ta see such thangs," she grinned, weaving and skipping into her room. Tristan watched her departing back, resisting the urge to laugh. She was such a nutcase, and yet such a mother; she made him wish desperately he had been her child......

With a sudden shock he compared the mother-daughter couple in this house to Maggie and her mother; the difference was so stunning, so completely mind blowing that it left him a little dizzy. He trembled to think what Maggie's mother would have done should she have been there instead of Lorelai in that hallway. He felt sick instantly, and rushed back to the bathroom.

Gripping the edge of the bathroom sink, he splashed water on his face and rinsed out his mouth again; his hand ran over his angular jaw, and then rubbed his eyes. 

I don't want to fuck up, please don't let Rory back away, please don't......his mind begged, but he didn't know who he was begging. Looking around as though someone might be watching, he sat on the edge of the bathtub, put his head in his hands and awkwardly started.

"Uh, God....I don't know if I'm talking to myself or if I'm talking to you, but if you exist, I'm sorry I didn't believe it, and please don't let me lose Rory. Please."

He fell silent, as he sat there making words that he knew would never come out right, trying to think of how to tell her.

Outside the door, Lorelai quietly smiled and stepped away. She had come to see if Tristan was ok; Rory was still upstairs, finishing up an assignment and changing into PJ's, but she had passed the bathroom on her way to the kitchen and stopped, curious at hearing a voice. Ethics or no ethics, she couldn't pass this up.

She wandered to the kitchen, still smiling. 

"I'm on your side, you messed up kid. Hang in there," she said to the coffee pot. The pot did not reply.

Creeping into the living room hesitantly, Tristan called out for Lorelai.

"Yes little prince," he heard a voice from behind. "You summoned?"

Awkwardly, he shifted from one foot to the other.

"I see Christopher's stuff fits, that's good. You can sleep on the couch tonight unless you prefer the kitchen table or the bathtub. And here's some blankets." she continued, tossing some at him.

"Uh, thanks," he said warmly, and opened his mouth to speak again as she departed.

"And yes," she cut him off before he could even speak. "You may go up to talk to Rory. Don't let me catch you even-"

"I won't," he interrupted, smiling at her.

"Good." she said, her tone menacing and playful, then serious.

"Goodnight, Oh Queen of this domestic Domain and all that is off center." he saluted in mock respect.

"I like that. Could you call me that from now on?" joked Lorelai, turning off the lamps.

"It's kinda long. How about Lorelai?" 

"If you must. But that's such a dumb name. Where in the world did you come up with that? Geez if my name was that I'd get it changed.." she said, rolling her eyes. "Goodnight Tristan."

"Night, Lorelai." he said, and then leaped out the stairs once she was out of sight. Hesitating before Rory's door, he took a deep breath and knocked. She opened it, and stared at him, then a slow, warm smile spread over her face.

"You're still up, get in here," she grinned, ushering him in and leaving the door open a crack. "I thought you went to sleep. Guess I should have known something like that couldn't wait. Why in the world would you go driving in this weather to my house in the evening without warning? You could've gotten killed! It's like the blizzard of 92 out there." she scolded, pacing around the room.

"Rory," he began, and she noticed his tone immediately. Quietly, she approached him.

"What happened," she said finally, sitting down next to him on the bed. The both crawled until their backs were against the wall, and they got comfortable.

"This is going to be a very bad night, I'm sure...." he began, and then noticed the unmistakable fear in her otherwise calm face.

"No, don't get scared. I haven't done anything horrible, at least not as of today. And that's what I need to talk about," he began, miserably.

"If it's about me, I'll understand," she began valiantly, only to have him cut her off.

"No, look, I got to explain everything first. If you don't ever want to talk to me again after this is over, I'll sleep on the couch and leave early in the morning before you wake up. But I have to say it, because if I don't I'll never be able to look at you without feeling guilty."

She sat mutely, her world beginning to break; tiny fissure cracks ran along it, and she shivered a little.

"Maggie's back," he burst out wildly, not knowing where to continue from there, but taking another breath to steady himself. Her eyes were wide and blue and wobbly.

"It's this...uh...girl, this girl I once knew a long time ago. It doesn't matter the whole story doesn't I mean she said if I told you the whole sordid story you wouldn't lay lips on me even if someone held a gun to your head and Rory I had to know if it was true, I can't keep everything a secret.....I ......Rory.....say something...." he rambled, desperate, watching her eyes and her lips as they trembled in the lamplight, and the shadows as they pooled around her face.

"Tristan, take a deep breath," she instructed the boy.

Shocked and desperately trying to get it together, she forced her mind to stop thinking the worst.

"Just say yes or no, ok?" she said calmly, her heart pounding.

"Did you have history with Maggie that you would be ashamed to tell me?" she asked, the words stinging her mouth.

He nodded, his face showing the strain of emotion.

"When she came back, I'm assuming this week, or today, or whenever, did you do anything with her?" 

He shook his head vehemently. She studied his eyes, and found them to be honest and begging to be believed. She let out a breath she'd been holding in relief.

"Did you want to?" she asked softly, and Tristan suddenly groaned and grabbed his head.

"God Rory!" he hissed, turning away. "She's .....look, the effect she had on me will be one of those things I'll never forget, it's like the pull of the tide when you're trapped on a sand bar, it's like the whirlpool a ship makes when it sinks! She fucked me up! Bad!" he yelled, then quieted, remembering there were others in the house.

Rory nodded slowly, her head reeling. She understood, but she still felt a little sick. There was a demon chasing him. A demon she had no power over.

"Look Rory," he pleaded, crawling next to her. "Thinking of you was all that kept me sane, kept my mind clear; if it wasn't for the thought of you, she would have messed me up and left me again, Rory, please believe me! I wanted to break things, I wanted to kill her, do you understand?" he whispered desperately, grabbing her hands and forcing her to look him straight in the eye. 

They both sat on the edge of the bed, emotions in turmoil.

"Look, the reason I'm telling you this is....because.....she said something that I've known for a long time, something that I've never had the guts to do; I have to, I don't care if you don't want to hear it," he said madly, getting up and pacing around the small room like an animal in a cage. "She said you'd never want me if you knew, that I'd disgust you; I know I will, that's why I'm scared to tell you. I have to tell you everything. I did a lot of things I'm not proud of, things that could come between you and me. Things like Maggie."

He heard her draw in a sharp breath, and then put her face in her hands.

"Rory," he said quietly, desperately.....he was sinking.....she had been right.

She lifted up her face. It was composed. She smiled a tiny, quivering smile.

"Tristan, I want you to sit down next to me. And before you continue, I'm gonna tell you something."

She took his hand and pulled him towards her slowly, and sat him down.

"When I started this, I knew that you weren't exactly a choir boy. I knew sooner or later this would come up. And I knew sooner or later I was going to find out things I didn't want to know. But sooner is better than later if we want to still be the way we are. Just spit it all out, and then we'll take it from there."

He listened to her words dumbfounded, grace flooding him like a blow to the face, a stinging slap in her sweet, innocent words; he didn't deserve it, and yet she was trying. He wanted to cry.

"I've never been in love, but...I...." he started nervously, loathing his words, ashamed of his cowardice. He swallowed. "I've slept with quite a few people. Numbers are not important, let's just say that it wasn't a number that would horrify you. It's just more than....a person who's never been in love should have. Do you see?" he said carefully.

Rory nodded, but the words suffocated her. She bravely did the best she could to understand. It doesn't matter, she kept chanting silently. Be grateful. He's being honest.

"When I met Maggie....I ...ah....was something along the lines of a little obsessed. She was the first girl I chased. Granted, I only chased her for a month, but it was the longest I'd ever wanted anyone. She was messed up, beautiful...convenient, and well, beautiful. I wanted her. I didn't want honest conversations." he continued, his own words tasting sick.

Rory sat mutely, listening.

"We basically did a lot of things that I'm not proud of. You know that I smoke and drink and I've dabbled in the occasional mild joint and have spent basically the last four years getting in trouble with my dad covering up my tracks. I might be some little kingpin at Chilton, but these people really have no idea what all goes on during those vacations to Europe and Argentina and all over the USA; a lot happens at Chilton too, but, nothing that usually landed me in jail. My parents are getting tired of bailing me out and having their public relations firm cover me. But the part I was really afraid to tell you about was the ...girls. And Maggie's on top of that list. And now she's back."

Rory's eyes filled up with tears as she tried to process all the information. It hurt her, but rationally and carefully, she remembered it was all in the past and the past no longer mattered at the present.

"Rory, you have to believe me when I tell you that I'm trying. I've never known anything other than what.....I was used to. You made everything so different, so completely ......oh God, it's like you're another world all together. I'd give anything to have been born in this kind of place. But what I did is still there....and I was kinda hoping you'll .......still.....want to ........"

Silently, she interrupted the hesitant, painful words with a hug. The two held on tightly to each other, wanting to believe everything would be the same, desperately trying to believe none of it would matter. But in Rory's mind, all she could see was Tristan, waking up in the morning, the same sleepy blue eyes opening like the sky, wide and clean; with a messy redhead or blonde or brunette next to him, one hand snaked around him.....

She struggled silently for a minute, reminding herself that he only wanted her. Shaky, unsure, wanting to believe him, she hugged him tightly, not knowing what to say.

They pulled apart and she looked at him.

He was a mess, his eyes slightly red, tired and his lips practically bitten down from nervousness. 

"I love you," he suddenly said, out of the blue, and Rory froze.

Deja vu snapped in electrified sequences in her head; Dean. Car. Tears, she wanted to scream, her voice was silent, she looked back at Tristan, Maggie, love? God! Love! What do I say....I, oh God don't let him think that I don-

"You don't have to say it back," he said softly, interrupting her mad, jumbled thoughts, her frantic mouth opening and closing soundlessly. "I just wanted you to know. I just want you think. I'll leave early in the morning if you want...."

"No, no, it's alright, you should probably wait for the snow...plow.." she sobbed, and shocked, suddenly realized she was crying.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered in her ear, his voice broken, as he held her tightly in his arms; he buried his head into her hair, and she was stunned to feel the damp warmth that dropped and sank among the strands. He was crying.

He made no sound besides the desperate whispers, but she felt one little warm, salty drop slide down her neck followed by another. She sat in mute shock. 

Almost two years she had known him. Never had she seen him cry. She had believed him incapable of crying.......

He quickly wiped his eyes on his shirtsleeve and sat up.

His mouth was steady but there was a imbalanced air about him, as though he might crash any moment. She watched him carefully.

He drew a deep breath. The worst seemed to be over. But Maggie's dulcet, ringing tones still echoed inside him.

"_she wouldn't lay lips on you if someone held a gun to her head..she wouldn't lay lips..she wouldn't lay.."_

Slowly, he lifted her chin, and brought his face closer till he could feel the faint wisp of breath between his lips, and then gently and sweetly alighted on hers for a second; the kiss grew a little deeper, as he lightly caressed her bottom lip between his, and stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Rory's head spun; an image of Tristan's mouth on some other girl cut through her mind razor sharp. She felt slightly nauseous. Get over it, she commanded herself. It was in the past. And now the past was back, waiting for him in the shadows, hunting him. What if he wanted the past? What could she offer in comparison to this Maggie? How could he want her after sleeping with this mysterious girl that controlled him purely through lust?

With a sharp, tiny intake of breath she broke off and hung her head.

This is it, thought Tristan bitterly. Maggie was right. Beautiful, terrible, right Maggie. Oh Maggie, how did you know, how did you know! His eyes burned with painful tears he restrained. 

"I'm so sorry, Rory. I'm so sorry." he whispered almost inaudibly.

"C'mon, let's get some sleep, I've had enough excitement for tonight," she said softly motioning to the covers. He smiled a tired, wobbly smile.

"I think I'd better hit the couch. I don't want to disturb your mother in any way." 

She nodded, and crawled under the covers. He tucked her in, relieved to find that she did not shrink from his touch; laying a tiny, gentle kiss on her forehead, he turned out the light and walked to the door.

"Goodnight Rory," he said quietly, slipping out.

"Tristan," she whispered, and he turned around.

"Yeah?" 

"Everything's gonna be alright." she said, smiling in the darkness.

"I know," he replied softly, closing the door.

He snuggled up on the couch under the blankets, warm and tired; his head hurt viciously, his eyes were still damp, and his muscles were tense and pained. Inside him, a cold hand pressed down hard on his heart. Silence settled into it, and then a sick, thin feeling; a sob wrenching pull inside him, a rebellious resignation

Maggie had been right. Rory had pulled away. How could she want him after he had told her that? What was she thinking?

Outside, the snowflakes fell thicker and thicker and thicker.

The muffled ring of the cell phone woke him in the luminescent gray dawn. Groggily, he grabbed it, his heart plunging at the sound of the sweetly sultry tone pouring like honey poison through the line.

"Ring ring, good morning," it whispered in answer to his mumbled hello.

"Jesus Christ Maggie..."

"Well, they were thinking of naming me that. But it was too long, so they just went for Maggie. Did you sleep well? Let me say hi to Rainey. Lori. Roly. Er...Rorlei.." the giggle floated on the air, innocent and girlish.

He glared at the invisible girl.

"Her name's Rory, she's not sleeping with me, and I'm about to hang up on you," he hissed, his features twisted.

"Ah -ah-ah, hasty hasty. Relax, babe, this'll be quick and painless. Was I right?" she asked knowingly, with a pout in her innocent tone.

"Fuck off," he spat, and hung up.

His eyes burned with tears. 

Yeah, Maggie. You won. But you didn't win all of me. The fuck I'll let you at me again.

Turning over, he went back to sleep, tossing and turning in the pearly grayness of the cool morning; dreams haunted him in vivid clarity, dreams all jumbled up. He dreamed Rory had a coat of arms on her inner thigh, laughing pointing, grabbing his arm.......he stared into her blue, beautiful eyes disbelieving, when he froze; the eyes were slowly and suddenly turning green, piercing, laughing, the laugh changed.....

He woke up with a start, in a cold sweat.

"Jesus Christ! Rory! RORY! Come out here!" Lorelai's voice rang through the house in a giddy laugh. "Rooooorrrryyy!!" he heard, listening to her running down the hall and undoubtedly jumping on her daughter's bed.

He sat up on the couch, rubbing his eyes. His head pounded. It felt like a hangover, but not quite as bad; he took one look out the window and all rational brain thought stopped.

The snow was piled in the front yard, drifts of it along the house; it covered the street, the drive, people's cars were weighed down with it; with shock, he realized it was too high to drive in.

He could hear their laughter as they ran towards the living room, the excited giggles and exchanged phrases that filtered in from other rooms as they bounced up to the living room. Ignoring him, they raced to the window. 

"Wow," breathed Rory, making a patch of fog on the glass. The two stood breathless, looking at the world outside.

"SNOW DAY!" shrieked Lorelai suddenly, and Rory started laughing. She bounced over to him, giving him a hug and dancing around him.

"Look, we don't have to go to Chilton today! Quick, turn on the TV! And you're here! This is so awesome!" she grinned, grabbing his hands and attempting to force him to tango, when he promptly grabbed her and dramatically dipped her. 

"Yeah!" yelled Lorelai, clapping and heading for the thermostat. "Nice. Your clothes are all in the dryer if you want to grab them, I've got a jacket you could hold somewhere around here of Max's that I found much too late to give back, and......oh my God Rory."

"What?" said Rory, cheeks flushed from the dance.

"Our heater isn't working," she said frantically, messing with the thermostat. "You know how it makes that bam-whoosh sound when it kicks it, there's nothing coming!" 

"Oh God....did you have that man look at it last month when Luke told you to?" 

"Er....." 

"Mom!"

"Rory! I had an electricity bill to pay from all those Christmas lights that we strung and left on for a month! I completely forgot!"

"We're completely dying of hypothermia," groaned Rory.

"I wondered why it was getting so chilly in here," ventured Tristan.

"What about food?" said Rory suddenly.

Silence.

Rory began to whimper.

"We have only one choice. Head to Luke's." said Lorelai with a defeated look.

Tristan grinned. It was the most common last or first reserve in the Gilmore house.

"And do what? Do you think he'll be open?" whined Rory.

"He has to be! Who'll feed the shovelers?" spazzed Lorelai, throwing her arms out.

Tristan raised a curious eyebrow.

"We, uh, only have one snowplow," said Rory sheepishly.

Tristan grinned and sank back under his blankets, watching them argue.

"Mom we can't keep running to Luke everytime stuff like this happens! What if he doesn't want to fix our heater in the dead of winter!"

"Then, uh, we show a little skin?"

"Mom!"

"We beg! We're good at begging! You can seduce Jess into coming over. He's good at fixing things, remember? The toaster?"

"I object...." came Tristan's muffled voice from under the covers.

Rory rolled her eyes.

"We'll die of cold and hunger before we get there." 

"Well, when your toes turn black and fall off from the cold we can eat them and thus save ourselves."

"You are disgusting," moaned Rory.

"Cmon, put on your snowbunny gear and let's go. Tristan......yeah. We'll have to do the best we can. We could use the exercise anyway, right?" sighed Lorelai.

"Speak for yourself," came the voice from the couch.

"I see someone's volunteering to be our first desperation meal in case we don't make it to Luke's by lunch. I don't know about you Ror, but I'd love me a nice little bite out of that cute little butt."

"Ewww Mom! I insist you be nice to my guest," frowned Rory playfully.

Tristan sprang up from the couch.

"I'm putting my clothes on now before your evil plans go into action." he muttered, disappearing down the hall.

"Dryer's last room to your left!" yelled Lorelai, heading to her room. "Get dressed, Ror. It's gonna be a long walk."

Wearily, Luke started up the grill, slicing potatoes on the cutting board. He'd finally gotten the diner nice and warm, and the snow shoveled off the steps and into the street. The plow had managed to clear off at least some of the main street before heading in some general direction. Jess tramped downstairs, stretching. He wore a white undershirt and jeans, the thick black hair carefully tamed, showered andfreshly shaved. He looked strangely alert.

"Why are you up so early?" grunted Luke, looking at him curiously.

Jess shrugged, and headed for the coffee machine.

"Slept good," was his only reply. Satisfied, Luke went back to the potatoes.

"Been workin' on the old car out back, the carburetor was jacked. Some circuits shorting. Injection a problem." continued Jess, surprising Luke. The older man struggled to think of a reply, not used to making conversation with the usually moody, sullen figure. Suddenly, he just relaxed. A small smile formed.

"How far along?"

"Bout two weeks. Long time till it's done. Was thinkin' bout selling."

"With your history, maybe you should let me try to sell," said Luke with a tiny smile. Jess looked at him warily, before relaxing and actually smiling a little.

"Yeah..." replied Jess, picking up a dishrag.

"So,.." said Luke...suddenly eyeing the long, thin rounded shape in Jess' shirt pocket.

"I'm gonna take care of the front while you're back here," said Jess suddenly, grabbing the dishrag and disappearing through the door.

Luke sighed and shook his head. He pondered the situation. The gum hadn't helped. The diseased lung pictures definitely hadn't. And the patch....well.....according to what he'd just seen, the patch didn't seem to be doing too well either. His ears suddenly perked at the sound of a voice he recognized all too well.

Dropping the potato, he walked out to the front.

"Lorelai!" he said, suddenly breaking in the conversation.

"Luke!" she grinned, turning to him. "Guess what!" 

He groaned. She was here before the plow had cleared her street. This could not be good."

"This can't be good," he said, voicing his thoughts.

"Ding ding ding! You have guessed correctly! Your prize is....the privilege of rescuing the damsel in distress!"

"God Lorelai," he began, a little smile threatening to break through in spite of his effort to suppress it.

She approached him quickly, and motioned Jess away.

Leaning over the counter, her face suddenly got serious.

"Luke I'm really sorry, I don't know what to do, my heater's broken and we have no groceries; Taylor won't open because he's declaring it an official Stars Hollow Snow Festival Day, and he doesn't open on holidays. I've got two kids in the house, one of which can't drive back to his house until at least tomorrow. Got any ideas?" he said quietly.

Luke rubbed his neck and sighed heavily. 

"I'll come over and take a look at it when the plow clears your street. Stay in here and eat for now. We'll think of something later. It's already 2 and it's not looking good out there." he said, and she looked at him curiously.

"What?" he said a little nervously.

"That's the most amount of words I've ever heard you string together in one uninterrupted ..sequence..."

"Ok, that's enough. Go and order."

"Thank you Luke," she said warmly, and threw her arms around his neck in a quick hug. Stunned, he watched her go, holding the coffee pot.

"If you don't move in the next few seconds I'm gonna have to conclude that you've gone into paralytic shock. Is that a little drool forming on your lower lip?" suddenly came the wry voice behind him, probing him with it's sarcastic tone that jabbed right where it mattered.

"Drop the comedy act," snarled Luke, and set the coffee pot on the counter, quickly departing to the kitchen.

Jess chuckled. He loved antagonizing the man sometimes. It was clear his uncle had a thing for Lorelai, as well hidden as he kept it; no one on the outside would have been able to confirm it.

But for now, Jess had more pressing matters. He carefully scrutinized the blond boy at their table. He had seen Tristan before, even talked to him on occasion when Rory brought him in sometimes. He knew the boy held a certain place in her life. Although he had once held a little ambition concerning Rory, it had disappeared after a year or so; other things had come his way. But he was still her friend; he had taken upon himself to see that she was happy and nothing bothered her in Stars Hollow. When she had broken up with Dean at the end of summer before junior year, there had been a fight in front of Luke's. Sure, he was guilty. But he still grinned at the memory of the other boy's nose bleeding. 

Smiling to himself, Jess wiped the counter and set the fresh muffins in the glass stand. But with carefully narrowed eyes, he studied the two this morning. There was something off kilter.

Rory and Tristan were their normal selves, but something he couldn't place hovered there. He knew if he found out the boy was guilty of anything, that he would smash his face in. Angry at even the thought, he furiously attacked the countertops with the spray cleaner.

An hour had passed, when it happened.

The lights quickly flickered.

Everyone looked up. There was no one left in the restaurant besides the trio and Luke and Jess; there was silence for a moment, when the lights flickered out again and died. 

"Did you notice it had started snowing?" asked Rory in a hushed voice, and everyone looked out the window. 

The sky was flat and gray and dull; it hung low and close, darkness seeming to fill the air. Outside, people were scurrying to their respective places, the street almost deserted. A tense feeling was in the air.

The wind began to wail outside the diner, making the shutters rattle.

"Shit," murmured Luke under his breath, heading for the front. 

A gale swept past the side of the small building, smashing thick flakes against the pane; outside, the storm began.

Oooh! We've got five people trapped in a diner/apartment for a night, TENSION, blood, GORE, conflict, storm, and then......what? Do I sense some bonding over.....cigarettes?? Ts Maggie about to drastically re-enter the picture for Tristan.....Rory oh Rory, you are one lucky girl.....maybe.......or not.

i'd love your opinion. feel so free.......to drop a line....


	4. The Fire and Fury.

OH lala! What have we here! I think it's another chapter! (grins and rubs hands together happily). Don't worry, you'll love this one. And for all those worrying that the Trory world is about to crumble, have no fear. There shall be trials and temptations, but..... there's a spectacular reason why this is a Trory. Things might be wildly different than you probably predicted. Except.....Laure, damn, you hit kinda close to the spot! How did you know I was thinking that! Anyway, this chapter is dedicated to Roxy (for that honest review), Queen Anne, Meghan, Tough Fluff, What's in a Name, and last of all InMyEyes (whose website everyone should see, girl, you alright). Also to all those others who reviewed this lame ass piece of ****. Thank you.

yeah yeah. disclaimer; first ch.

Luce

4:00

The five figures in the diner looked at each other silently.

"Maybe it'll let up soon," said Rory hopefully, but in a morbid tone.

"Maybe I'll give up coffee," replied Lorelai morosely.

"Maybe Clinton didn't sleep with Monica Lewinsky," snorted Luke sarcastically and went back to his counter.

"Maybe I'm missing my date with Miss Patty," sighed Tristan dramatically.

They all stared for a second, and then a few grins broke out. The diner was silent except for the usual kitchen noises as everyone tried to think of what to do.

Jess pulled out a stack.

"Cards?" he said, one eyebrow raised.

Everyone gravitated towards him instantly.

6:00

"Oh for Chrissake, Rory, that's the third time you've killed us. Where did you learn to play like this? I never sent you to Camp Chickamauga." pouted Lorelai, slapping her cards down.

"Well, you see, it's really simple logistics and reason and-"

"That's enough. I'm going off to sulk and annoy Luke now." she said, sighing and getting up.

"You have my blessing," chuckled Jess.

Lorelai threw him the evil eye, and then wandered in the back, calling out for Luke in a singsong voice.

The diner was half lighted, the tables cleaned off with the chairs turned on top of them. Safely guessing right, Luke had assumed there would be no more customers, and had closed up the place; the skeletons of the chair legs gleamed in the half light, the storm outside throwing an eerie blackness throughout the room. A few lamps were on, their penetrating beams reaching no further than the circle of their metal shades; in the middle of the floor, leaning against the counter, the three teens sat in a circle, holding the cards.

"Spread," said Tristan carelessly, laying out three cards.

The other two faces were tense for a second, Jess' motionless.

Rory picked up a card. The other two watched her reaction closely. Underneath the beams of light in the semi-darkness, it felt like an interrogation. She shifted nervously and Jess caught it without a trace of acknowledgement.

She was under the impression that she was about to be eaten by two hungry wolves.

Jess laid out his cards smoothly. 

"Spread, and a hit on you, son," he said smoothly, flipping down a card on Tristan's row.

A slight twitch of the blond boy's face; a faint outline of a smirk waiting to come out. Rory recognized it in a flash, and brightly looked at her cards. Biting her lip, she considered her choice. She picked up a card. Laughing, she slapped down a row of queens, and threw a card across Jess' row.

"Hit, and tonk out."

"Damn!" hissed Tristan, throwing his cards down good naturedly.

Rory grinned and did a little victory dance with her shoulders, until she saw Jess' face; she instantly knew he had let her win. The expression was too cool, too knowing. Damn. Of course, she should have known. Could anyone beat Jess at anything that involved cards? The boy had played for a living.

Tristan rubbed the back of his head, and smiled at her.

She wanted to gasp. The twinkle in his eye was unmistakable.

"You've been letting me win!" she accused furiously, crossing her arms.

"What! Whatever! Maybe he was!" was the instantaneous wild denial from both of them, followed by laughter.

"That's it, I'm not playing anymore," she sulked. She let herself fall back on the floor, hands under her head, looking at the ceiling in the darkness. Outside, snow smashed and drifted on the windowpanes, encasing them in a white fury that glowed gray in the unnatural dark. She shivered a little.

"Want me to get you a blanket? Or we could go upstairs...." Jess said, his words aimed towards both of them. He looked at Rory.

"I'm not so sure we should just tramp in on Luke's personal space...after all, it's not like that's Buckingham Palace up there. There's not much elbow space." said Rory hesitantly, and Jess shrugged.

"Bathroom?" queried Tristan, and Jess pointed him upstairs. The blond boy tramped up the stairs, leaving the two in the dark.

Over by the window, a cell phone rang. They both jumped slightly, their nerves raw.

"Who's phone is that?" said Rory, her eyes glimmering in the lamplight.

"Want me to go get it?" replied Jess, looking at her form sprawled out on the floor.

"Please," yawned Rory, stretching her arm.

Jess' unmistakably trademark outline slunk to the corner, shaking a coat, and finding the offending object. He picked it up, briefly considered the urge to steal it, smiled to himself, and pressed the button.

"Hello?" he said simply, wondering what to say next.

"Wow, is that you? Doesn't sound like it. But then I've had two martinis already and I'm so damn miserable at this high society fling that I'd do anything to have you come over. Even beg," laughed the stunning voice on the line. Jess took a moment to let the clear tones slide through him, her voice casting it's effect. Slightly confused, he took the careful route. Find out more. His teeth began to clench.

"Huh?" he said, careful not to reveal the sound of his voice too much.

"God, I was just sitting there," the bored, thrilling dulcet tone continued, "when I remembered that time when we were at the Wellington's London house, when our fathers were discussing business and your hands were traveling upwards between my legs under the table while your mother asked you if you were doing well in school......I couldn't sit up for half an hour.....might as well have shot me through the kneecaps....." 

Jess stood paralyzed, the phone glued to his ear, the mystery voice sending chills through him. He couldn't deny that her voice did strange things to him, while her words sent flames of fire licking under his veins and made his mouth dry.

Maybe it's a wrong number, was his last insane thought. He didn't hang up. How could he? 

Silence on the line. Then the voice, this time girlish and impatient, pouting, naughty. 

"Tristan! Cmon! it's Mags, say something. I love the effect that memory has on you......." she giggled and Jess froze.

Anger rushed through him, swift and fierce; his hands burned on the phone, and he felt nauseated. The little fuck....Tristan....Mags?Who the hell was Mags? Rory!!!!!

Calmly, he hung up, put the phone back in the coat pocket, and walked back to Rory. His eyes gleamed fiercely in the shadows; he was still, his mouth hard and thin.

"Who was it?" was her lazy reply from the floor.

"Wrong number," he said quietly, suppressing the sheer rage in his voice.

"My phone?" came the innocently wondering voice from the stairway.

Tristan.

Rory suddenly felt a cold chill, a strange sensation. She stood up. Tristan neared. Closer to them. His mouth smiled, at her, at Jess.......... he was right by them.

Her heart stopped still. 

In a flash, in a muted half second Jess' fist shot out, the crack echoing through the silence; dazed, she watched the blond boy's head violently snap to the side, as his body reeled back.

"What the fu-" the mug on the counter shattered as the heavy impact of Jess' body hit it. Another hit. Blood.

A scream escaped her throat before she even realized it was gone.

On the floor, yelling, cursing, fist hitting tables, chairs skittering around the room like four legged spiders, STOP! another hit, lamp swinging, JESS! NO!!!!!!

Dashing towards them madly, tears streaming down her face, Rory beat their backs with her small fists, effort useless; YOU BASTARD!, another hit, the raw sound of knuckle, another scream from Rory.

"What in the-" Luke's voice suddenly roared among the chaos, as the tall body of the heavily muscled man ran towards them, grabbing Jess, forcibly wrestling with him, when one fist shot back, slamming into Luke's chest. The man reeled back.

A stinging slap; YOU JACKASS! a heavy shove, a missed punch, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!! the storm screamed and screamed outside, Rory's yells and sobs lost inside it; it whirled around them, the two lithe, muscled bodies violently colliding in the small space, deserted pieces of furniture scattered like animal bones over the desolate floor. 

Lorelai and Rory quickly dashed to a booth, the woman holding her daughter as she watched Luke dive in between them again, pinning Jess to the counter with his arm and leg, and holding one arm out. 

Screams. Thuds. Yells. Obscenities, blood.

Struggling against Luke, Jess's body trashed violently.

"What the fuck are you doing, you motherfucking asshole!" spat Tristan, blood spraying on the white tile, guilty and dark, shimmering.

"Hey, that's what I wanna know! I'm not gonna let you screw her over! How the fuck could you do this!!!!" raged Jess, his features contorted in hate.

"Do what, you bitch! I've done nothing to her!!!" Tristan yelled, rushing at him again. Luke's heavy hand sent him flying backwards against a table. 

"Who the fuck is Mags, huh, you prick!?? Care to explain who you're feeling under the table while Rory's not there!! Did you think you were gonna get away with this??!!!" 

The only sound was Rory's quiet sobbing as she wriggled from the booth and dashed forward, imploring, pleading, her tearstained eyes and hands accusing both of them. She drew desperate pictures in the air, gasping to catch her breath; her voice broke and failed her.

"Jess, it's alright, you don't know the story!" she screamed, and the boy turned his head as though he'd been slapped.

"Tristan....I......" she whispered wordlessly, her eyes wide, blue and electric. They glimmered and burned, frostbit.

"It's my fault," he spat, a trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. She held back the urge to pass out. "I should have turned my phone off, found some way to block her. I'm sorry." he whispered to her, his eyes turning liquid but his features holding hard.

Rory looked at the mess in the diner for a second and sank to the floor weakly. 

"Oh," was all she said, in a tone so lost and full of pain that Luke's heart stung with it; he looked venomously at both boys. Grabbing both of them by the collar, he held them separated.

"Both of you bitches need to be taught a lesson; it's a shame I'm not your legal guardian or I would beat you so hard you'd be wishing you were six feet under instead. So I'm gonna sit you both here, ten feet away. I'd better still find you like that when I get back, or lawsuit or no lawsuit, someone's getting trashed. Understand?" he roared viciously. 

The two didn't reply, their features hardened and sullen, as he threw them down on the ground. His intimidating frame towered over them. Luke was not a man that you would question.

"Lorelai," he called, but she was already there, picking up Rory.

"Take her upstairs. I'm gonna make her a hot cup of coffee in the coffee maker upstairs, I shut down the one down here. Don't let her go back down here for another half hour. Little bad ass wannabees," he spat at the figures on the floor. Their eyes glared gleaming at him in the shadows.

They were left alone.

In the darkness, the two breathed heavily. The stared straight ahead, knowing that looking at each other would most definitely start things up again.

The two lamp bulbs were broken, leaving them in the dark; fluorescent blue lights from the cooler dimly glowed in the darkness, turning in from black into a chilly, navy blue shadowed ice. The snow outside on the windows gleamed with it.

Tristan wiped at his lip, which had stopped bleeding in the corner. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed a tired sigh that rattled all his bones and made them ache. Jess had made use of the short time they'd had. He winced as he tested his arm, then his side. Biting his tongue in pain, his fingers traveled over his ribs.

Jess had suffered the brunt of the same fists that had brutally protected Rory that night in New Orleans so long ago. Tristan's private gym had not gone unused. But like a true Brooklynite, he refused to show it, suffering in stoic silence and hoping he was still all intact.

But through Jess' mind, the only thing running were those words, those low, playful, sultry, heavy innuendo laced words, the husky, sweet contralto that made each syllable so memorable; the British accent that slipped off her tongue lightly was so seductive, so thrilling.......Jesus! 

He had to know.

"Don't lie to me or you will get your face smashed in; have you fucked around with the Mags girl anytime since you met Rory at the begging of junior year?" said Jess dangerously. His tone was even and full of an unmade threat.

Tristan paused for a second to give his words momentum.

"No." he said. "I haven't. And I never will again." he said just as clearly, letting the words fall heavy and precise. Honest. 

The two still stared straight ahead, silent. Jess considered Tristan's words. With a nod of his head, he acknowledged them.

"I want you to know, that I'm like her brother. I'll do anything to make sure nothing happens to her. And if you turn out to be something she'll have to also get over, I will find you, and make sure you never mess around with another girl as long as you live. Do you understand?" he said, pronouncing each word clearly, sharply, and calmly.

"I'll never stop loving her," Tristan replied quietly, stunning the other boy.

Jess' thoughts stopped for a second. The tone in the other boy's voice had shot them dead. Careful and amazed, he listened to it.

It was full of pain, full of things that Jess had known once himself; full of self loathing and anger and disgust. Full of shame. And full of longing.

Jess had been born studying people. He knew how to make his face so indifferent and completely expressionless that no one would ever be able to read it; he knew how to discern situations before they even began. He tasted tensions, his eyes eagle-quick pinpointed trouble. He had to learn this, to survive in a place like New York. You didn't get second chances.

Studying the boy next to him, his muscles suddenly relaxed. He felt an odd kinship.

Tristan suddenly understood Jess; the boy was just another version of himself. 

And Rory was a staple of their existence. They lived in a large part for her, always knowing that they'd never meet another girl like that, always knowing that it paid to stay by her side. Whether in love or friendship, the two had the same link; one shy brown haired girl with huge blue eyes and an teasing smile.

They sat side by side, separated, slouching against the counter, feeling the pain of the hits taken, and thinking the same thoughts.

A pact had been made.

"Cigarette?" offered Jess, his face still an expressionless mask.

Tristan's lips curled into a grin.

"God yes!" he chuckled. Jess handed him the long, thin object, and Tristan slowly placed it between his lips. He caught the lighter the other boy had tossed him.

"Thanks," he mumbled, tasting it through the paper, hungrily lighting it.

Two sighs and two clouds of smoke were released into the air, the hardened expression on the two handsome, abused faces softening just a little bit. They stretched the lean, muscled lengths of their bodies, searching for bruises, propping their hands up on their knees as they inhaled the blue smoke that drifted like dead ghosts in the dark. Wincing, Tristan pulled off his sweater and examining the hardened expanse of body covered by the thin undershirt.

"Jesus," swore the blond , studying an interestingly darkened bruise. "You pack a hell of a punch."

Jess grinned, and instantly stopped, the act hurting his jaw.

"If I have to get my jaw rewired, asshole, you're paying for it," softly cursed the darker boy, his fingertips gingerly traveling over his angular, chiseled cheekbones.

The two smoked in silence for another second.

"What's with the Mags bitch," asked Jess, his tone betraying more than he realized.

Tristan chuckled. 

"You only heard her and you want a piece of her ass," grinned Tristan. Jess shrugged, a secret smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, she might be a bitch, but she's unstoppable. You don't say no to her, you know what I mean? Damn......she's....."

"A gladiator? How soon could she walk after?" smirked Jess.

"Not for a day," laughed Tristan. "That girl takes you out. Repeatedly. Fuckin' energizer bunny." 

Jess nodded lazily, his lips stretched in a smile over his cigarette.

"It was a long time ago, though. Summer before junior year, when we went to London. God, I she laid me down flat. I couldn't handle it. She fucked me up, bad."

Jess nodded. 

"Came across a girl like that once," he said thoughtfully.

They watched the blue smoke ringwraiths circle around their mouths, disappearing in the dim shadows.

"She's back," sighed Tristan, a tired quality to his voice. " I don't know what the hell to do. I already resisted once, but I'm afraid, you know? Afraid she'll still win."

Jess' eyes narrowed, then relaxed again. He took a long drag. It burned his lips.

"Rory's....you know....different. She doesn't think she's anything, but the person that gets a hold of her will probably be the luckiest person on earth. I had a thing for her for a while, but, not now." he said.

Tristan nodded.

"I'm not afraid of messing up. I'm just .....hoping....she'll take me anyway, you know?" Tristan whispered, laying all fears to rest in the other boy's mind.

The two looked at each other, their tired faces masked in silence.

Jess took out another cigarette.

He raised an eyebrow towards Tristan. The blond held out his hand. The lighter and another smoke were placed in it. He lighted up, and they leaned their heads back against the counter wall.

"Now, unless you've settled this by now, you brats are about to-" boomed the voice that stomped down the stairs, stopping short when he saw the two figures.

Puzzlement ran through his features, then disgust, then anger, and then defeat.

"I....uh...." said Luke confusedly. They looked up at him. Jess took his cigarette between his fingers and smiled at Luke, an easy smile that made the man's eyes narrow.

Angry, the man stomped off. They listened to his heavy footsteps up the stairs. Tristan let out a light chuckle.

" I could see his brain frying. Smoke? Risk a fight? Smoke?" 

Jess grinned.

He blew smoke rings into the blue silence.

Upstairs, in the small but warmly lighted room, Rory lay quiet, staring at the ceiling on Jess' bed. Her mind played flashback sequences, snaps of pictures; her mouth trembled, her eyes brimming. She said nothing, just thought.

Lorelai's hand stroked her hair.

"Rory, what more could you want? Sometimes trust comes up. And this is one of those times, love. He confessed things he didn't have to. There has to be some credit for that."

"I know," said Rory quietly, her words lost and sad. "That's the problem. I don't know if I can....."

"Deal with imagining it?" finished Lorelai, sighing. "Hey, when Max told me he'd been doing the down and dirty dating right before he asked me to marry him, I still said yes."

"Good example," said Rory sarcastically.

"Uh, yeah..." replied Lorelai in a defeated tone. "Sorry."

"It's just that..." whispered Rory, "what could I be to him after that girl? She's like, a goddess or something. I'm not the prettiest person. I mean, I'm ugly. Forget it." 

"Oh for God's sakes Rory. I won't even argue. You know that's not true," said Lorelai crossly.

"Ok, alrigh," sighed Rory, rolling her eyes. "But she seduced him. I'm not a seducer. I read books."

"Maybe you could read books about seducing."

"Mom!"

"Ok, another not so smart comment. Two in a row. Not a good night." muttered Lorelai. "Rory, I think you know how Tristan feels about you. Don't underestimate yourself. You can get that boy worked up just by looking at him a certain way; I've seen it happen. But that's not important! What's important is love, and that's what's gonna keep you." insisted Lorelai earnestly.

"Oh wow, if that wasn't a 7th Heaven moment I don't know what was," said Rory wryly.

"That's it. My parenting shift is over in 3...2..1. minutes. Bye. Raise yourself." said Lorelai morosely. 

"Mom, come back," whined Rory. "I need a hug."

Rory cuddled in her mom's safe, warm embrace, sighing deeply.

"I'm all sad and confused," she said, her voice muffled.

Lorelai rocked her silently for a moment.

"We all are," she said softly, more to herself than anyone else. "We all are."

Rory softly descended down the steps, her touch feather light. Her nose wrinkling in disgust, she stepped down into the slightly smoky diner.

"Put that out," she commanded. Two sets of eyes instantly swung towards her; two cigarettes instantly got ground into the tile floor.

She studied the two, realizing what must have taken place. Gently, she approached them both, waving clouds of smoke away from her. With a shaky, tentative smile she cracked her knuckles, then crossed her arms across her stomach, and bit her lip.

They both heavily stood up, their bodies unfolding in front of her, and she studied both frames for a tense second. Her eyes straying to the thin undershirt Tristan was wearing, a tiny tinge of pink appeared on her cheeks as she saw Jess' smirk. He hadn't failed to notice the quick glance.

"We're going to pretend this never happened," she said calmly. "And I'm going to take both of you dumbasses upstairs and clean you up and then we'll all go to sleep. I've had enough for tonight."

The two nodded mutely, acknowledging her words; her figure glimmered and wavered blue, reflected in two sets of eyes, one sapphire and one dark chocolate.

The followed her up the stairs obediently, with a penitent air, both cursing themselves for doing what they'd done in front of her. Jess swore silently. Should've put it on hold until she wasn't there, he thought bitterly to himself.

Upstairs, she sat them both down on the edge of the couch.

"No whining, no crying, no bitching. You deserve this," she said bravely, slapping down the gauze and the sterilizer and the ice. "Something hurt on your torso/upper body? Shirt off. Got a bruise anywhere else, I don't want to see it."

They both smirked at her, infuriating little smiles that made her narrow her eyes and grit her teeth.

"I think you're enjoying this too much," grinned Jess, eyeing Tristan. Tristan shook his head. Not a good time, he communicated silently, and Jess was instantly subdued.

"Yes ma'am," he nodded, groaning as the shirt slipped off. Lorelai joined in the inspection. Luke watched from a corner sullenly, his expression mad and sulky.

"I'll take care of that cut on his back Jess got when the little blond angel next to him slammed him down on that coffee mug; and Rory, you start in on a bruise check and that cut on Tristan's lip." ordered Lorelai, grabbing some Neosporin.

"Holy Mother of Christ," hissed Tristan as Rory's fingertips accidentally brushed his side. "I think I cracked a rib." 

" Let's hope," countered Jess.

"Bite me, Grease." spat Tristan

"Gladly, Abercrombie."

"Hey!" interrupted Lorelai, noticing Luke's fists tensing.

"Sorry," they apologized, grabbing some ice packs.

"You, in that corner. You, in the other one. See those sleeping bags? All yours. You're both in timeout. Just be glad I'm not making you face the wall." snapped Lorelai, throwing a blanket at each of them. 

Luke headed for the couch as Rory and Lorelai jumped onto the bed. After the lights were turned off, they lay quietly, listening to the storm, noticing with a shock, that it had stopped. The world outside was still and quiet.

3:45 a.m.

She couldn't sleep.

Her mind dreamed reckless, heartbreaking dreams, sequences interrupted and flashes of memories; she cried out silently, waking up in a cold sweat. He was slipping. Buried in a hard shell of strange suffering, she curled up within herself and tried desperately not to cry. She stood up; she felt as though he had been crouching inside her, and had fallen off when her body unfolded. Tilting her head up, she carefully tiptoed down to the diner.

All she wanted was a glass of water. Dry thoughts of him filled her mouth.

Her body stopped short at the foot of the stairs, her mind halting, numb; trembling, trying to breathe quietly, she studied his figure. He was looking out the window, back turned to her. She wanted to run. Her feet were frozen and heavy.

This is why it hurts, this is why you should've known better, her mind cried out. Did you think it would be so easy, to just distance yourself when you want him? Did you think you could hold back? Did you think you could handle it?

She studied the easy curves of his slouch, the angles of his frame reflected in the dim light. She traveled the lithe, powerful outlines of his figure, slim yet flowing with the strength she knew lay in the knotted sinew that rippled easily under the skin like a panther's. Her eyes caressed the curve of his neck, the sculpted outline of his jaw, just a black shadow in the blue darkness. She traced the curve of his spine, the swell and rise of his ass and legs. Her eyes glimmered electric in the cool shadows.

Carefully, she turned to go.

"Mary."

The whisper pierced her in it's quiet intensity; she turned towards him. His back was still turned. He hadn't seen her. He'd sensed her. The name stopped her still in her steps, glued her to the spot. An avalanche of chills washed over her, leaving her weak and powerless, buried in her own emotions. Her body moved towards his without her consent.

"What are you doing down here?" she said nervously, keeping a safe distance as she joined him by the window.

He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep," was the soft reply she had to strain to catch. His voice dared her. Come a little bit closer. Come. She shivered. 

"Cold?" was the gentle reply, and the tone in his voice startled her. Her eyes snapped up to meet his and a jolt of electricity sparkled from blue to blue in the dark.

"Come here," his voice softly teased, urged, laced with tiny unsaid things, freezing the blood in her veins and sending dry flames through her body. " Either my senses deceive me or you're scared....."

She shook her head obstinately and crossed her hands over her stomach, tucking them in at the waist.

"Mary," said the fragile whisper, fiercely snatched from between his lips.

In one swift movement his mouth fiercely took hers; his body crushing her, desperately seeking warmth, desperately seeking her. Her mind swam in a pool of confusion. His arms lifted her, her back pressed against the windowpanes as she gasped, and her legs slowly wrapped around his waist by instinct. A struggle to breathe, burning, dying, the cold window against the back of her neck, the hot mouth on the nape of it, ferociously tasting, taunting; she was knotted up and tightened, legs limp, hands desperately wanting to know the contours of his body. Kisses flamed like a wildfire over her mouth as he broke her against the windowpanes harshly, and she melted inside him, the flames consuming her like delicate rice paper, folding, curling, crumbling. A moan welled up in her mouth, escaped between their lips that made him tremble; his hands traced her face, her collarbones.

"Stop!" she managed to gasp between kisses, slipping to the ground. He stepped back with great difficulty as she placed one hand upon his chest, her fingertips burning at the contact with the warm steel; she slowly backed away, fear in her half glazed eyes. His breathing was ragged.

Without another word she fled, lightly floating up the stairs, quickly disappearing.

He struggled to regain control for a while; with a sudden groan, he crashed his fist into a table, wincing at the pain. He barely realized his mouth was bleeding again.

8:00 a.m.

Breakfast was silent. Bruises from the night before were felt ten times worse in the morning, headaches pounded and raged and there was nothing to discuss, even for Lorelai. The snow plows cleared the street, and the trio headed towards the house.

They entered the house and tiredly dropped their things.

The phone rang.

"Yes? Yes. Oh God. Alright. He'll be home. No problem, I'll explain later." said Lorelai into the receiver, rubbing her head.

Turning to Tristan, she sighed deeply.

"You, my friend, and in seriously deep shit. Your parents are about to kill you, I don't know how they found out you're here but for once in their life they care. They've sent someone after you to bring you back to the house. In case you noticed, your car's completely snowed in and .....wow, you have a flat tire! Did you have that before you left."

Tristan's eyes widened. Suddenly, a cold premonition ached in all his bones; he knew. He felt that presence. There was only one thing....no, that would be crazy. The tire could have been...an accident. But he felt it. Electricity froze him.

The doorbell rang.

Rory opened the door; her eyes froze on the strange figure outside. Somehow instinctively she knew; maybe it was by the way the stranger's eyes washed over her, and then ended in a relaxed smirk. Her green eyes lightly danced in the cool winter light.

"I'm here for Tristan," said the immortal, beautiful, heart-breaking voice.

God! I'm horrible!!!!! Maggie's baaaaack, and no less subtle or subdued. Can anyone survive? Hmm..we'll see. I sense some serious trouble for Tristan, what? A catfight? Whoooooo! Jess works some magic....but on who? Or is that too dirty to post...hah, I don't think so. **:-)** till next time.... keep reading. 

ps. this is the part where I whore a little for feedback....pwease? only if u have the time.


	5. Soft Slow Falling.....Snow.....

Hey ya'll! Sorry, took a long break for finals. I was running out of inspiration, sadly, I don't know what to do with this fic now. I should try to finish it, but I hope it'll be as good as I had planned before. New challenges arise. What is exactly Jess planning? Can Tristan and Rory get it together? And of course....fabulous Maggie returns, more provocative and seductive than ever. Here's a fling into high society, .....good luck Tristan, you'll need it.

So, read and enjoy! 

Luce

Disclaimer: first. Ch.

Soft Slow Falling....Snow...

Outside, it had started sleeting. Icy frozen water slapped down on the windshield, blurring it as the silver car flew over the cold, black roads. His face was frozen in stone, his features neutral and expressionless; beside him, the cool alabaster goddess leaned back like a cat, her long, slim arms delicately handling the gears, fingers tapping the wheel.

Her face was set in stone for once.

"Stop being a baby. I'm not fuckin' abducting you, you know; the merger happened. DuGrey and Sheffield have closed the Ryder-Capitol merger along with a few other propositions. We're celebrating this weekend for two days up at the Sheffield mansion in Martha's Vineyard; your father demanded someone go and get you. I was the only one who knew where the fuck you were."

"How in the hell you knew is beyond me and I don't even want to know." he replied, tight lipped.

She grinned carelessly and sensuously.

"I have my resources," she said with a sly smile. "Ready for that weekend of fun?"

The husky, sexy laughter filled her throat and bubbled over; he listened to the clear tones with fear.

"You must be out of your damn mind if you think I'm going anywhere with you."

The foot on the accelerator pressed harder. Swerving around a curve, the car slightly skidded; his eyes shot wide open. Her face was hardened. 

"Maggie, slow the fuck down!" he yelled, suddenly grabbing the dashboard.

She whipped around a corner, running a yellow light, her foot dancing with the gas pedal.

"Where's your sense of adventure??!!" she screamed back in response, half laughing, half furious. The crazy delicious laughter spilled into the air vents and intoxicated him. A stop sign was missed. The wheels screamed.

His face was white.

"Hey Tristan, you know, I was in love with you!" she suddenly laughed, turning to face him; her eyes gleamed green under the pale luminescence of the winter light. She was laughing but they were so sad, sad, terrible eyes, a sad, terrible mouth.

"Maggie don't," was all he could breathe through a tightened throat.

A pout dissolved her face; glaring at the road, she swung into the driveway and skidded to a stop in front of the house. Tristan didn't move, and slowly began to breathe again. As soon as his senses were regained, he jumped from the car, slamming the door behind him. 

"Hey Tristan," called out the sweet, deceitful voice. 

"I'm not going!" he yelled back, snapping his head to face her. "Hear that?!"

"You don't have a choice," she giggled, brushing past him. The faint scent of her perfume intoxicated him; dizzy, he stared at the retreating back. 

"God," he groaned hoarsely, frozen in place. "Oh God."

Throughout the house filtered the sounds of departure, the faintly caught instructions, the fragments of sentences and sounds that floated up towards his half open door. He'd spent the last hour downstairs in the pool hiding from her and swimming laps. Cautiously, he opened his own door, expecting to see her there like a nightmare. The coast was clear. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, he closed it carefully and headed for his shower.

Mistake.

Opening the door , he was shocked as he was suddenly hit by steam; a fragrance that he recognized too well drifted through the room, and his impulse was to run. His legs wouldn't work. The water ran, and he froze as he recognized the outlines of the form inside the steamy glass walls; it was a pink blur that shattered everything. He watched numbly as one delicate hand reached for the towel, and a figure stepped out of his shower.

Her blonde hair was in damp, blond-gold clumps that clung to her neck and shoulders like brilliant, shining strands of silk; her skin was sensuously bare, clothed only in a short towel. Wet, bronzed skin emerged in graceful lines from the soft terry article as she slid towards him with the grace of a feline.

"I seem to be in the wrong shower," she murmured as she approached him slowly. His eyes drank her in, his body tensing and becoming taut, already begging to respond to the sheer need she created inside him, the hollowness. 

She slowly slid around him, her bare fingertips landing like butterflies here, now there, then disappearing; her mouth was enticingly close, her damp, fragrant blonde hair brushed against his neck. Her eyes pierced him, jade green.

"Get out," he hissed, but she was already leaving; her light laughter haunted him, the look of power he'd recognized on her face. 

"One more thing," the sultry voice said, the blond head popping back in around the door frame. He turned to see her naughty, half innocent look as her mouth formed the fateful words.

"I was right, wasn't I? I won Tristan, I knew I would. You disgust her. Rory darling doesn't need fucked up you."

He shivered with rage, with sadness, with desperation; his eyes were steel cold and blue. She slunk a little closer.

"You and me again, Tristan. In the bathrooms. On the elevators. In other people's beds. In the shower. In the back of that person's limo. In the Jacuzzis, the kitchen counter, in that garden, on the beach in Blackpool, in London, on the Essex estate, on the balcony, and in my parent's room. God it was good, Tristan...." she whispered in his ear, standing too close, a sly smile playing on her face. 

"Stop it," he whispered, powerless to stop the memories flooding back.

"Yeah, we were shameless, but it was always amazing. You have some skills that sweet Rory would never employ. Answer me honestly; do you ever think about that summer? About what we did? About that time we were at the Polo match at Havingham and do you remember the dining room table?"

Her tone was pleading and sweet, and subtly flowing with a electrifying current. He was pale.

"Yes," he hissed tensely, roughly grabbing her arm.

She smiled a smile that stretched slowly and gorgeously, her eyes glittering.

"I thought you might," she whispered, the tip of her tongue running over the rim of her teeth. He swallowed hard.

"Damn you," he spat, flinging her out of his way and striding out of the room. His eyes were slightly glazed, his breathing unsteady, as he slammed the door behind him. She didn't miss a detail. Leaning on the doorway, she grinned maliciously. It wouldn't be long.

"He has to go the whole weekend!" Rory wailed, crashing onto her bed.

"Oh honey, look, maybe you two needed a break. Everything's happening at once, it's just so insane; a little time off could be what you need. Did he tell you where he was going?" 

"Martha's Vineyard." was Rory's muffled answer from under the covers.

"Of course. Rich people mecca," muttered Lorelai. "Mom and Dad have a house there." 

"I wanted to tell him that I understood, that it was ok, that I still wanted him in every imaginable way possible-"

"Hey! I'm a mother! Don't allow me to hear that!" interrupted Lorelai in disgust.

"Sorry, but it's true! But he's gone and I don't know if he knows! What if Maggie..."

"That's enough," barked Lorelai. "I officially command you not to say that name in this house. Quit it. If it bothers you that much, than it shows you don't have a lot of faith in him. Why don't you just trust him? Monday you'll see him, he'll come over after school and you two can talk it all out and then make out relentlessly like rutting animals until I've decided you've gone far enough and then I'll walk in on you and order pizza and we'll watch the Wizard of Oz and everything will be alright."

"To you, everything that ends with Wizard of Oz is alright." sighed Rory. "Kinda like the sound of that relentless rutting though."

"What has gotten into you!" exclaimed Lorelai.

"Brief incident the night of the fight."

"I won't ask."

"Good. I'd be embarrassed to tell you." grinned Rory.

"Hey! Now you have to tell me! Hey! Come back here and tell me right now! I won't allow you not to tell me!" ranted Lorelai, following Rory up the stairs as the girl fled to her room. "If I ever find out you did what I would have done I will kill you and-"

"Leave the body out on the road for the crows to peck, yeah yeah yeah, heard it before."

"I'm not joking."

"Good night, must study," laughed Rory, shutting the door in her mother's face.

"Trifling trick-ass girl!" yelled Lorelai through the door.

"Maybe if you cook me a cake from scratch!" yelled back Rory.

Lorelai snorted in amusement.

"Yeah, that'll be the day," she muttered sarcastically, tromping down the stairs.

Light jazz mutedly came from the speakers; the inside of the black limo glistened and gleamed with gold-trimmed cherry wood and custom leather. The seats were wide and spacious, a bar in the back; Tristan stretched his long body over the leather, sighing silently. He stuffed a pillow under his head, made himself a martini (dry on the rocks) and leaned back. Outside, he watched through tinted windows as tiny flakes of snow fell lightly past him, thickly whipping back in the wind. It was snowing again. The weather had taken the turn for the worse; for some odd reason, he could not help but believe it was because of her. She was a curse; and she brought all curses with her. Her green eyes dictated the weather, dictated other people, dictated him. His martini suddenly tasted very bad.

Putting down the drink and sinking back into the pillows, he closed his eyes and remembered every detail of that night, every tiny indentation in her lips. Rory. He let the name roll silently over his tongue, tasting it, drinking it, letting it flood his mouth and slide down his throat melted sweet. Rory. Blue eyes glistening in blue darkness; her mouth, her neck, her fingers against the glass. Her legs around his waist, her hair sliding down the side of his face as she bent her head, letting it hide them both like a curtain. He felt a pang of loneliness.

I want you to be wrong, he screamed silently to an invisible pair of green eyes; I need you to be wrong! You're wrong!

His fingers unsteadily traveled the keys; breathless, he listened to it ring, waiting with his heart in his throat.

"Hello?" responded the girlish voice on the line.

"Rory?" he managed, tripping on the words when they fell out of his mouth.

"Tristan?" she breathed, happy delirium in her voice. "Where are you? What's going on?"

His mouth stretched into a wide smile, his breath came back to him, he grinned joyfully; running a had through his hair, he tilted his head back with the mad urge to laugh out loud. 

"God, Rory, it's so good to hear your voice. I'm in a limo by myself on the way to Martha's Vineyard, it's snowing outside and I miss you so bad I might die."

Rory tucked her feet under her on the couch, curling up under a blanket; a pink blush caressed her cheeks, her rosy lips smiling endlessly, her fingers toying with the phone cord.

"You'd better not. We've got unfinished business."

Oh yeah, I know. There's no little Tristan Jr. running around yet." he laughed, leaning his cheek against the cool window.

"What makes you think that there'd be one if you lived?!" she giggled. "What I meant by unfinished business is that assignment from Medina and you apologizing to Luke."

"Mm...yeah," he murmured, briefly remembering. "I'll more than make it up to him. How's Jess?"

"Still sore, but alive. A little embarrassed about the whole thing, but he's got this look on his face that I'm afraid means business. When I asked him what it was all about, he grinned and said you knew. Care to clue me in?"

"Oh God, they're a match made in heave," he chuckled to himself.

"Who? I demand you tell me!" commanded Rory.

"You'll find out. God, why didn't I think of this." Tristan grinned, soliciting more whining and begging.

"Tristan!" she scolded, and then gave up.

"You're pouting, aren't you." he said.

Silence.

"Mary oh Mary, don't be mad," he wheedled like a little child, tempting a sigh from her.

"I'm not pouting. I wish I was there." Rory responded despondently.

"I wish you were here too," he answered, his heart soaring at her words. "What would you do if you were?" he asked gently, waiting, wishing.

Her reply stunned him, shook him senseless.

"Kiss you," she replied softly, her words a mere hint of a whisper, so shy and beautiful in their innocence. He caught them and believed for a second he'd imagined them, until he heard the silence that followed.

"Rory?" he breathed into the phone, unbelieving. "Would you?"

Her silence was enough affirmation.

His body relaxed, flooded with peace; outside the snow fell thickly, beautiful and pristine, pure like her want. He opened the sunroof, uncaring, letting it fall on his hair and eyelashes, caught on his lips. She was his, and he was hers entirely. No teenage melodrama. No detours, no mistrust, no hesitations; no assumptions and no jealously. They were both sinking into it alone, each on their end of the line, their voices connected by thin electricity; he felt her inside his mouth when she spoke. There were no words big enough, full enough, wide enough....beautiful enough.........

"I love you," he whispered, and the words resonated inside him.

"I love you too," she replied, her words sure and steady, like the falling snow. Little tiny cold kisses on his hands and face, little flakes falling through the sunroof...........

The line went static and died. 

He set his phone down, his hand falling away from his ear; tilting his head back, he began to laugh, a sound that welled up from between his ribs, where his heart fluttered, to his throat, spilling out over his lips, laughter, boyish, rich, joyful, resonant laughter bubbling and flowing! over him, drowning in it, and the snow fell and fell and fell..............

Behind him in the road he left a thin, pale shadow that trembled and shivered, it's green eyes dulling and gone, it's opaque form finally disappearing, blocked by the snow. Maggie was dead.

Lights glistened ferociously, twinkling brazenly over gorgeous mansion. Outside, shining, glistening expensive cars pulled up and glimmering, affluent figures stepped outside; chauffeurs drove the vehicles to the back. Tense, excited jazz poured out from inside the huge house, it's windows and columns and turrets glistening in the cool winter night with golden, beautiful light. Tristan breathed deeply as he strode up the steps, losing himself in the whirling mass of people that advanced and receded like conflicting tides. He watched as lavender and beads and glitter flowed past him like a treasure tide; feathers, dark satin, Armani and Gucci suits galore swirled in between them. Women advanced and retreated like sensuous butterflies in a rythmic dance, mixing and socializing in groups, then continuing. People who had never met shared laughter and jokes; champagne flowed freely from bubbly glasses, light as the mood that night. Dignified men in dignified smiles condescendingly nodded to each other and envied each other's escorts, discussing polite business deals. Once in a while, a sporadic laugh brushed through the air like a breeze, causing giggle chimes to tinkle. The room flowed, swirled in a gentle constant motion, and the glitter of diamonds and precious gems reflected into chandeliers like prisms and beautiful, priceless rainbows.

Giving his coat to some attendee, he stepped into the mad whirl and politely made his way to where he saw his parents standing. The room was huge, with gilded ceilings and wide, curving staircases that descended into marble floors. Ferns and various exotic plants decorated the vast expanse along with a few exquisitely priced settees and other pieces of furniture; paintings hung the walls. A live jazz band played from a corner, the smooth, melodious strains of the easy beat permeating the fragrant air.

"I'm here," he said politely, standing up straight. His father nodded, his mother smiled sweetly. 

"Just mingle dear. Lots of pretty girls. Car's out back if you feel like going home early, here's the key to our house on the Cove. Don't drink too much," she winked, and he winced at her carelessness.

"Sure," he replied quietly, melting away into the scene. She was beside him in a second, her head tilted back as she laughed, exposing the exquisitely graceful nape of her neck; her green eyes glittered and glistened, pulling him in teasingly.

"One dance, c'mon. Let's go." she giggled, pulling him towards the polished wood floor.

One dance. Could it hurt?

The strains of the low, sweet melody flowed through the room electrically; the easy beat melted sensuously over the walls, driving into his bones. There was a half-fast, half lazy rush to the tango, rhythm mix that sent her legs tensely striding, then curving, then delicately and precisely stepping and spinning. He guided her perfectly, his body trained years in the polite social art. But she always took it a step further. Her legs sensually slunk, strode, glided, her toes tapped rhythm, her slim, delicate arms were poised perfectly as the soft material of her dress fluttered around her like torn butterfly wings. She was so incredibly sexual, so beautiful and marvelous, so lithe and svelte; she floated over the dance floor as he spun her in hard, fast sequence. Securely tightening his arm on her back, he dipped her as she flung one long, glistening leg out. Every eye in the room was on them. 

They rose, they fell, they floated, they were precise and sharp in each movement. His hands guided her hips, her slim fingers spread along the base her his neck, her eyes glimmered. He was lost in the moment for a second. The sexy beat accelerated as the girl prowled, the thin staccato of her stiletto heels speeding on the floor, everyone was breathless...then the music finished and the soft torn butterfly wings softly drifted and landed closed as his heart beat hard under her hand.

Everyone clapped admiringly, then drifted off as the two of them were left standing there, his face too close to hers. She slid one knee between his legs, her hands adjusting his shirt collar, her breath on his neck. A slow smile spread on her face. He was paralyzed, grasping for air that didn't exist at his altitude.

And then she was gone, blending into the throng, her glimmering green dress that thinly strained against her curves and floated opaquely around her knees and thighs beckoning like a green beacon. 

Breathing deeply, he berated himself. What the fuck were you thinking! Dancing with her......the bittersweet taste of temptation curled in the crevices of his mouth. He remembered the tight flow of her slender muscles under his fingers, the soft sheen of her skin.

Downing two glasses of champagne, he picked a plain, dull girl and entertained her the rest of the evening. But she watched him always, glass in hand, from under her eyelashes, that smile on her face; that smile that he knew would be his greatest weakness.

On the deserted road, a dark black car sped across the now cleared roads easily.

"Why are we doing this again?" Rory asked nervously as she stared out the windows.

"Eh, I just thought we needed a vacation," grinned Lorelai.

"Mom!"

"Rory! If mom and dad were kind enough to offer us the use of their summer house in Martha's Vineyard, we should take advantage of it and abuse it. What happens once we get there is none of my business."

Rory groaned silently, but she was too flooded with thoughts and images to question it.

"At least this time we have a map. What if.."

"No what if's!" commanded Lorelai. "I order you to enjoy this."

"I know I will," came a voice from the back, it's tone brimming with sarcastic yet secretive nuances.

"I don't even wanna know, Jess," commented Lorelai, pushing the accelerator.

A dark head popped up from the backseat as Jess yawned and flung the Nintendo into a backpack, stretching.

"I didn't think you did. I bet Rory does...."

"Jess!" she bawled, throwing a bag of unopened chips at his head. He ducked easily and grinned.

"This is gonna be a good weekend...." he laughed, grabbing a book from her knapsack.

"Did I say you could borrow that?" she spat, lunging at it.

"Half the writing in it's mine."

"So! Just because you scribble in it doesn't give you rights! It's my book!"

"Yes princess. I apologize." said Jess, rolling his eyes and beginning to read.

"Alright, you asked for it," glared Rory, diving in the back, legs in the air, wrestling with him as she tried to snatch at the book.

"Hey!" yelled Lorelai. "Don't distract the driver!"

"Jess! You're distracting my mom! Give me the book!" laughed Rory, diving for it again.

"Hey, mine aren't the legs waving in her face."

"God I wish I'd never met you."

"Liar." smirked Jess, dodging her easy snatch and smacking her suspended backside with the book.

Rolling into the back completely and grabbing her book in a furious wrestling match, Rory giggled and screamed as she stuffed it behind her back and tried to keep him away. 

"See, this is why I only had one kid! Hey, Sally and Harry! You listening? Tom and Jerry? Otis and Milo? Sylvester and Tweety? Calm it down!"

The car slowly pulled into a halt.

All three passengers looked out the window, slackjawed in awe as they stared up at the huge stone mansion.

"Yeah!" whooped Jess, throwing the door open and rushing outside, all forgotten. Even Rory dropped the book and dashed out of the car, looking up at the house. Across the bay, she noticed the lighted house that glistened and glittered, pulsating with the barely drifting sounds of music that floated over the water.

He's there right now, she thought absently, and then realized strangely that she'd just had a premonition. She turned to see her mom and Jess unlocking the door and stepping inside. 

Grabbing her bag, she slammed the car door shut and ran inside, looking out over the glimmering bay one more time. She noticed a lone silver car drive up the road they had come along; it looked strangely familiar.

She waited for one more minute watching the way the lights from the house sparkled over the water, over the pristine snow. She turned around and was about to enter when she noticed something else.

A dark car that had been waiting in the shadows drove up the same road, it's lights turned off. It drove slowly, carefully following the same path as the car before it, turning into the same branch of road that led into another private driveway on the other side of the woods separating their estates. Uneasily, Rory watched it go, a strange feeling jarring and scraping in the marrow of her bones. She looked at the road; it was empty.

Shaking it off queasily, she went inside the house and closed the door.

Sighing, Tristan turned off the ignition in his silver Porsche. He was in his driveway.

Looking up at the cold, dark house, he shivered a little. It was so huge...so lonely......c'mon Tristan, he chided himself silently. You're not a little boy anymore. You're not scared of the dark.

Slamming his car door, he entered the security codes and walked into the house. He turned on the single hall light, casting eerie shadows over the foyer; shuddering a little, he ran up the stairs and into the room that was so unfamiliar, yet his. 

Outside, a dark car with it's lights turned off slowly and quietly pulled up behind his and stopped.

Yeah!!.........Tristan won't be so alone tonight.....but more company than expected. Drastic turn of events (knife), betrayal and passion (or not?) long, golden legs.....fury.....Jess in the right place at the right time, and the tension hits the splitting point. Rory's got a choice........to believe....or to flee...

So read on and find out. If you feel it's deserving, I'd really appreciate a review, or a note...or a line..., whatever u have the time for. All opinions and suggestions welcome.

The saga continues.

Luce


	6. When Fire kisses Powder....

Hey! I'm back after some writer's block and loss of interest, I've picked up the story again. Then next chapter will probably be the last, and then an epilogue, if requested. I hope you've enjoyed my little saga....this chapter is for Aziza, a gladdened reviewer, shayness, fi, carulaiel, inmyeyes, and glow (who never ceases to amaze me with her bone jarring, awesome writing). it's also for all those that still reviewed during my slump; i'm back! with guns blazing.........but i also have the flu.......so i'm pretty miserable.....but anyway, now i'm officialy rambling and not making sense so just read.

Enjoy.

Luce

disclaimer: 1st ch.

The halls of the empty house seemed to whisper in sinister, sensuous whispers that sent chills down his spine; he closed the door to his room and hurriedly turned a lamp on. Shaking his head at his own childishness, he tried to block all the thoughts out that made him ill at ease. He was strangely uncomfortable, his senses sharpened and poised, waiting for what seemed to hide in the shadows. Flooding his room with light, he did a quick check of the room, and then laid down on his bed. This is ridiculous, his mind laughed uneasily. But he had a premonition; it was as though he could sense, sense her coming, sense the sweet smell of her perfume like poison. His heart sped up; leaping from his bed, he quickly walked towards the door, his eyes fixated on the lock, feverishly wanting to turn it with his mind, reaching out, and then..........

As his fingers reached towards the door, the golden handle slowly went down, and then door swung open a crack, letting in a slice of ominous darkness.

He was too late.

Outside, the wind restlessly began to beat against the sound of the house; over the dark bay, the breakers shattered and rippled in furious little waves. 

In horrified fascination, he watched as one slender, familiar hand crept in through the dark slit, caressing the wall as it slid over towards the light switch. Too dazed to move, he saw it lightly touch; and then, in a second, he was left in blinding darkness, the only sound audible the beating of his heart, his breath. 

The door began to slowly open.

"Daaaaamn!" echoed Jess' pleased voice down the hallway.

"Jess! If you steal anything I swear to God I'll never forgive you." Rory yelled after the sound of his voice, grinning.

"Blower. That Picasso was lookin' kinda good."

Rory rolled her eyes and skipped down the hallway, flicking on lights as she went. The whole house was soon pleasantly illuminated, the lacy white curtains in the windows and the warm candles adding a comforting familiarity to it. Turning on some slow, relaxing jazz, Lorelai poured herself some wine from a crystal decanter and sank back on the couch with a slow groan.

"Aaaahh..." she sighed, taking a deep drink. "That's more like it."

"Not a teetotaler, I take it" said Jess, watching amusedly from the doorway.

"Oh please. You make me sound like the drunk bum on the park bench," snorted Lorelai, draining the contents of the cup. "I'm very responsible with promoting....responsibility."

"Sure. Don't worry, I'd pick you to chaperone my kegger," laughed Jess as he wandered around the room. 

"Don't push it." she glared.

"Yes, Captain Morgan." 

"Ok, go to your room. And for your information, I prefer Bacardi. And I know you snuck a bottle of 

Heineken Dark, put it back; and don't let me catch you smoking inside this house. I know you don't care if your lungs get all black and smoky and collapse but so help you God if the curtains do, capisce?"

Rolling his eyes, Jess reluctantly put back the Heineken back in the cold bar he'd so quietly extracted it from; saluting, he walked out to look for Rory, leaving Lorelai in her blissful oblivion.

Once out in the hallway, Jess grinned and pulled out the bottle of white zinfandel he'd cleverly slipped under his jacket while replacing the Heineken. Whistling, he walked down the halls, looking at the expensive paintings that were tastefully arranged across the muted colors of the walls.

"Original Tealdi; that that's a very pricey Vermeer," said the intelligently childish voice behind him, startling him. He turned around abruptly.

Rory smiled in the soft hallway light, pointing to the wall.

"I know," he nodded, grinning. "Metamorphose, the second one, and Girl Reading a Letter at an Open Window," he said, pointing.

"Hmm, impressive, Mr. Danes. Not only a literature fiend but also an art critic; I must admit, I'm blown away. Vermeer - paintings known for their...." she prompted, eyes sparkling.

"Luminosity," he immediately finished her sentence, a smirk on his face. "Style -"

"Golden Age Painter," shot back Rory, grinning. "Other famous work -"

"Girl with the Pearl Earring," retorted Jess, and they both laughed. Rory shook her head.

"One question; why are you not in some prep school?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

He shrugged, turning to the wall, studying the paintings for a silent moment.

"Too busy being bad," he grinned, suddenly pulling out the bottle from his jacket.

Her eyes flew wide open, and then resumed normalcy as she realized it was Jess; anything was possible.

"How the hell did you sneak that?" she asked crossly, trying to be mad.

He slung an affectionate arm around her.

"That's for me to know and for you to wonder. I think we should celebrate our own intelligence? Whaddya think?" he said, pulling out a corkscrew.

"Oh for God's sake, what kind of brother are you? You're supposed to watch out for me, not try to get me drunk," muttered Rory, walking down the hall.

He caught up with her, grabbing her hand. She spun around, trying to suppress a smile. 

"Think of it as my special way of saying I care. Plus, I always thought it'd be fun to watch you staggering around a room, knocking into things, singing Hotel California at the top of your lungs while I videotape."

"Satan," glared Rory.

"C'mon," he urged, laughing.

Her eyes sparkled with impulse suddenly.

"C'mon, I'll show you my favorite place in the whole house. This is so cool, I bet you've never seen anything like it before. Plus, it's a safe place to hide that naughty bottle."

She raced up the stairs with Jess in pursuit, through a winding maze of stairways, and then up another small, twisted staircase. Opening a small door, they stepped into a warm, tiny room.

The walls were white, a few cushions scattered on the floor big enough to accommodate six people comfortably, at most; there was no furniture, only blankets and throw pillows. At about waist-height, the windows started. The walls from there up were just glass; it was a small look out tower of sorts. 

They quietly sat down in the small, cozy space, the wind and cold outside held back by the crystal glass; Rory turned on a small lamp that shut out the darkness and lent a dark glow to the room.

Jess popped open the bottle, and produced two glasses mysteriously procured; pouring the bubbling liquid into them like a solemn ritual, he handed one to Rory. Leaning back against the wall, the two silently drank to mysterious longings better not expressed out-loud.

"Penny for your thoughts," said Jess, breaking the calm.

Rory cocked her head to the side, thinking silently; she sighed, deciding the truth was as good as any lie.

"Actually, I was thinking about Tristan, yes, yes, I know," she sighed, watching his knowing grin as he opened his mouth to retort. He seemed to change his mind, and instead tilted his head back and took another long drink.

"What are you worried about?" he asked, and she felt a slow warmth spread through her at his confident, somewhat amused words.

"Ah....." she said, grasping for words that she didn't know how to express; catching her slight blush, he smirked, knowing instantly.

"You've got him wrapped around your damn finger. Nothing could distract him, trust me. I've seen him look at you." said Jess bluntly, watching her as she sighed and rested her chin in her hands.

"Yeah...maybe....I don't know. It's like I'm afraid it's always going to end, like it was too good to be true from the begging. I'm in love with him, you know." she admitted calmly, watching Jess' mildly shocked and then smiling reaction.

"Sorry, it was just the way you said it. It was like, 'I ordered pizza,' or 'the red shoes are in the closet'. You know?" he said, thoughtfully pouring another glass. " I knew you were, I just never thought you'd be so straightforward about it."

"Yeah well, that's me, closet shocker mystery woman," she muttered glumly, reaching for the bottle. "I just feel so inadequate sometimes. Like I have no way to help him because I've never waken up next to him in the morning in a villa overlooking Naples Bay. You understand?"

Jess nodded, but his forehead wrinkled in thoughtful worry. 

"Surprisingly yes, although if I were any normal person I wouldn't get it. Rory, you don't have to give him anything in order to have a pull. He's in love with you. And that's more than probably other girls have had. C'mon, think about it."

Rory considered it for a moment, and then sighed a resigned sigh, but she looked considerably more cheerful. 

"Thanks. For everything. I'm glad you got kicked out of your house and sent to live here."

Jess raised one eyebrow in half-disbelief, half amusement.

"Ok, rephrase. I'm glad you're my cousin." she corrected.

"Legally not yet," he chuckled, pouring her a second glass. Rory grinned and rolled her eyes.

"Fate never went to law school," she quipped, raising her glass. "A toast; to our first annual family reunion."

Jess lightly touched his cup to hers, tipping it back.

"Don't expect anyone from my side to come," he smiled, and she shook her head.

"God, can you imagine a Danes/Gilmore family reunion?" she said, holding back the urge to laugh. She settled back into the pillows comfortably, bathed in the quiet gold shadows.

"It's be a sea of flannel on one side, and glitter on the other," he replied, and she choked on her drink giggling.

They both drank quietly to that, setting the cups down.

"Hey, I never showed you the coolest part of this room." she suddenly said, standing up and heading to the wall. He watched as she opened a cabinet, pushed a button, and suddenly the wooden door swung, revealing a telescope.

"You birdwatch? Or just perv on the neighbors? Rory, Rory, if only the world knew....."

She smacked him lightly on the arm, pulling him up.

"Here, look. There's Venus. And there's the house where the party was tonight. OOhhh, look, they're dragging a drunk lady out to her car!" she squealed, and he peered through the eyehole.

"I'm the authority on all that's illegal, and I know there's got to be a law against this." he said amused, as he observed the scene, zoooming in and out with the powerful lens. Rory took his place in a second, swinging around the long metal tube.

"And there's our neighbor's house, from above. Some rich people. Damn, that car does look kinda familiar...you know....I could've sworn...."

She suddenly went silent, and stood up, pale.

"What?" he said curiously, immediately looking through the eyehole. Just a silver Porsche.

"That's Tristan's license plate," she said faintly.

The two looked at each other for a second.

Rory dashed out the door. Jess took one look at the bottle, sighed, and sped after her.

Tristan stood silently in the dark, his heart pounding, listening to his own breathing; he froze as he heard the sound of another person's breath, and saw a shadow glide into the room.

The shadow moved by the wall, one hand on a mysterious object; with a single motion, the room suddenly exploded in a dark gold light.

"Boo," giggled the shadow, melting into a person.

He jumped at the sound, and then drew a deep breath.

"Maggie." 

His voice was low and dangerous as he glared at the figure leaning against the wall; his heart beat a little faster as she approached, her lower lip pouting irresistibly.

"Did little Mags scare you?" she cooed, and her lips curved up in a naughty grin.

"What the fuck is wrong with you! How did you get in the house, and why the hell are you stalking me!" he exploded, suddenly flinging the nearest object, a desk lamp, into the wall.

Maggie shrank back a second, and then regained composure. Slowly, she walked over to the bed. He unwillingly took in the long curves of her legs under the white fur coat that came to mid-thigh, and cuddled around her neck in soft, white fluffy folds. She was stunning, breath taking, purely sexual; the lamplight gleamed a deep bronze sheen on her skin, stretching over slim muscles and taut limbs. The space between her legs that disappeared under the white fur taunted him. 

Her hair cascaded around her neck in soft golden folds and tendrils, messy and rumpled, in her eyes. Her thick fringed clear green eyes pierced him from under inquisitive eyebrows; her stained red lips seduced him with each small motion. She stretched out like a lithe, slim, jungle cat, waiting, waiting to pounce on her prey in one swift movement. She propped her long legs against the wall as the fur coat slid down; her thin, long gold stiletto heels tapped against the white plaster. He stepped back, the images assaulting him, the memories flooding him, the taut, lightly flowing muscles under his fingertips on her back, the soft swell of her curves, her red, guilty, impassioned mouth attacking his own the in the foggy London morning.......

"God," he groaned under his breath, and she seemed to come alive; she slowly stood up, in her full glory, pinning him with her eyes, forcing him to stare. In a terrifyingly slow motion, she started unzipping the coat, slowly, down, down, skin coming into view softly under the gold shadow.

The soft, white fur fell to the floor, and she stood there.

The thin black lace stretched tight against her willing body; clad only in a thin brassiere and panties, the long slender limbs unfolded, slapping him breathless. He felt broken, abused.

Slowly, she slunk towards him. His body reacted the way it always had to her; without mercy, violently awakening. She slid around him slowly, her arms floating over him. Her mouth wanted his, she purred softly, the familiar triumphant smile slowly spreading on her face, her eyes gleaming cruelly, piercing green. Her damp lips were on his neck, her hands at his belt buckle.

His face froze in restraint, ordering his body, but it was no good. It took all his willpower to keep his arms still as her tongue traced tiny butterflies behind his ear. His hands tightened into fists, his knuckles white, his nails digging into his skin.

"Maggie," his voice warned, but it trembled; it only elicited a little delighted laugh from her.

"Just this one time, no one will know. Ever. That's all I was good to you for, well, now I'm offering it again. Isn't that true, Tristan? Why did you spend all that time? Why?" she whispered, her words like tiny needles piercing his skin.

"I knew I had to make you wait, because you'd be gone as soon as the chase was, but God, I was so fucking hopeful that it wouldn't turn out that way......Tristan...." she continued, still circling him, her hands still passing like shadows over his body. A hot lighting bolt ran through him as his belt dropped to the floor and he felt her fingers slide under his shirt, over the steely expanse of stomach. 

"Maggie, don't do this. Don't do it," he said, his voice ragged, his body fighting for control. It was already giving in, already losing.

"Hey, you only wanted my body. Now I only want yours. Is that a crime? Did you think it'd never come back around?" she questioned lightly, her words poisonous. She quirked one eyebrow, and suddenly looked down as if shy.

"You want me," she said so softly, he barely caught it. Her knee suddenly found it's way between his thighs; her fingers were steel on his back as she pressed his body to his, and her hot, fierce mouth crushed his sending his body up into a violent flame of passion. Each fiber of him responded as programmed, each nerve ending raw and aroused beyond control, each cell wanting to slam her into the wall.

"Tristan," she whispered in that second, and he froze.

Rory.

Flash of blue. 

A sweet innocent smile. Thick, heavy, shiny slippery brown hair falling like a curtain.

I love you.

With one last breath, he gathered every ounce of will he had in his body.

Rory burst through the front door of Tristan's house, wild eyes, her body shaking; Jess stopped short behind her, his face glowing darkly. She turned to him with full eyes.

"Whatever happens, no violence," she said firmly, and Jess groaned, running a hand over his face. "Promise!" she hissed furiously, desperately, and he nodded.

She took a deep breath and ran up the staircase.

"No!" Tristan yelled, numb to himself and to the world around him; he grabbed her arms wildly and tore her away, sending her stumbling backwards. He watched in shock as Maggie flew backwards, against the bed.

"I hate you!" she screamed, her eyes burning fierce green. "You never knew what you did! God," she moaned and started crying wildly, terrible sobs tearing themselves out of her chest. 

Rory stopped still at the sound of his voice, the one powerfully spoken word that stopped her blood cold and sent waves of cool hope washing over her. Gasping, Rory burst into the doorway. 

She took in the girl, the wild eyed boy clutching his head on his knees, the terrible weeping emanating from the half-naked figure of the girl on the floor. Gathering up all her courage and trust, she gently stooped down over the boy.

"Tristan," she said softly, and his head snapped up violently.

"Rory!" he burst out, terrified. "Please, I can explain! Please don't leave, you have to believe me! Rory!" he exclaimed, grabbing her hands, his body racked by the powerful emotion. Jess crept in, spotted a robe in the closet and silently pulled it out. He slipped in the shadows, approaching the sobbing girl on the floor; gently, he draped the robe around her, maneuvering her arms into it. She was limp and unconsciously allowed him to, not even noticing.

"Tristan!" Rory yelled, shushing him, covering his mouth with kisses, her hands on his face, on his arms, holding him as she tried to make him listen. "Tristan! Listen to me!" she said, pronouncing each word clearly and carefully.

"It's alright," she said simply, and he stood there shocked. 

"It's not what it looks like, I mea-"

"It's alright." she cut him off again powerfully, her blue eyes holding his trustingly. He slumped, and she held his weak frame against her as a few hot tears slipped into her hair from his eyes. "Shh.... it's alright," she murmured, rocking him.

"Mary," he said brokenly, and she tightened her grip. Letting go, she wiped his eyes with her hand, and her eyes glimmered, full of tears as she smiled a wobbly smile. She ran her fingers lovingly through his hair, over his eyes, over the angles of his jaw, the nape of his neck; he wrapped his arms around her and held her close for another minute. The only sound in the room was the wild sobbing coming out in broken cadence from the crumpled girl on the floor as she slowly rose, staggering to her feet.

Rory pulled back, and took his hands. Giving him one last look, she turned around. 

Her whole demeanor changed. Her eyes hardened, her mouth a straight, thin line; fists clenched, she directed a deadly look towards the blond girl.

"You. Fucking. Bitch." were Rory's clipped words that punctured the air and hung suspended for a breathless second before she hurtled like a streak towards Maggie.

With a scream, the other girl went down, and the two fell twisted on the floor as Rory's fists swung, cracking the blond in the jaw. Maggie slapped her, rolling over, and Rory administered a punch to the other girl's stomach that sent her reeling. With more rage than she'd ever felt in her whole life burning in her veins, Rory was a danger to herself.

She felt herself lifted by a pair of arms so powerful that she struggled against them uselessly; she was lifted off the other girl like a wilted leaf, and held back. On the other side of the room, Jess had the green eyed girl in a lock.

The two screamed and cursed at each other from across the room; Maggie's string of half-british curses interrupted by tearing sobs, Rory's words thrown at her like daggers.

"Stop it!" yelled Tristan, clamping a hand over Rory's mouth, and Jess followed suit. The two girls wildly struggled for a second before they gave up, making small effort to resist, and finally hanging limp.

"If we let go, will you behave?" shouted Tristan angrily at both. Sullen looks were his only response. 

Tristan slowly unclenched his arms, nodding to the other boy to do the same. 

It took only a split second for the two of them to lounge forward again, but Jess and Tristan were prepared; the lamp was knocked over, shattering, plunging the room into darkness; a scream, a missed punch, a tight grip, and then a hand that blindly fumbled and flipped on the light switch, flooding the room with bright fluorescent reality. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you!" yelled Jess at the two sullen girls glaring at each other as they wriggled in their respective captor's hands.

"That's it," ordered Tristan, dragging Rory downstairs. 

"I can walk," she spat, and looking into her eyes carefully, Tristan saw submission. He nodded, and let go of her arm. 

The two shot deathly glares at each other in the passing; Tristan managed to drag Rory into the foyer.

They breathed heavily and stared at each other for a minute.

"What the hell happened," she said in a tiny voice, and suddenly slumped to the ground. Silent sobs shook her body, leaving her weak and fragile; feeling a desperate urge to cry himself, a sheer insane madness, a terrifying brush with the closest edge he'd ever come into in his whole life. He'd been so close to losing her. If he hadn't yelled No at that moment....all...would've been lost......

Tenderly, he scooped her up in his arms, and deposited her into the Porsche. Gathering a few things, he stocked the car quickly, and closed her door.

"I'll be back in a second, don't move, ok?" he said gently, assuring her. She nodded, her lip quivering.

He raced back into the house, where he found a tired-looking Jess at the bar in the den, pouring himself some gin, a still crying Maggie on the couch.

"Can you tell Lorelai we've gone to New Orleans, and we'll call in a bit, and everything," he said to Jess, tiredly rubbing his eyes.

Jess nodded, and shook his head, a small smile on his face.

Tristan raised one eyebrow. 

"What?" he said, grabbing Jess' drink and taking a swallow.

"You said no. I didn't think you would. But you did. I don't know how........" said the dark haired boy, grinning.

Tristan shrugged, set the glass down, and grabbed his keys.

"Take care..." he smiled, and ran out the door.

"Sure, leave me here with the gorgeous damsel in distress," muttered Jess, a smirk growing on his face. Swallowing the rest of the gin, he closed the door.

The silver Porsche sped over the road, it's destination awaiting.

In den, Maggie's head snapped out at the sound of the door being shut.

Her crying immediately ceased, her features relaxing, into thin lines of discontent. Immediately examining her jaw, she tied the robe around her and poured herself a heavy drink.

Jess rested against the doorway, watching.

The blonde girl tipped back the glass, sending prisms of diamond light against the wall; setting it down, she wiped her mouth and cursed as she gingerly felt her cheek. Suddenly seeing the figure leaning against the doorway, her eyes widened; then, in a split second, they relaxed and narrowed again. Smiling a thin, curved smile, she strode across the room, coming face to face with him.

"Disappointment hasn't seemed to kill you," smirked Jess, sipping a beer and watching her cautiously.

Her face was expressionless, but a little tired; she was in a bitchy mood. Her lips pouted as she scanned him aggressively.

"Got a smoke?" she said coolly, surveying him, her eyes running over his body like invisible fingers.

He grinned, producing two from between his fingers like magic; she giggled for a second at the little trick, before she remembered who she was. Taking them, she caught the lighter he tossed and lit one. Sighing, she inhaled the smoke, and dropped back on the couch. Tiredly, she ran her hands through her hair and checked her watch.

"I don't think we've really been properly introduced," he said smoothly, falling into a couch opposite hers. "I'm Jess." 

She smiled slowly, over the rim of her glass.

"Hello Jess," she whispered, and one finger slid along the rim of the glass as she watched him under her eyelashes.

"So, I take it you have a little thing for Tristan. I won't dig, but I'm curious; I think you were acting the whole time....the sobbing bit......."

Her face suddenly snapped up to see his; her smile gleamed in the soft light of the chandeliers, the diamond glittering and sparkling on her long finger.

"Was I?"

Ok, sorry for the craptastic ending but if you read Escaping the Inescapable (the prequel to this) you'd get the New Orleans part and maybe understand the cliffhanger. As for Miss Maggie and Jess.....got a little surprise comin' up there.......and Rory and Tristan are about to make up after a fight.....and you know how that usually goes......

Anyway, I was thinking (as the grand finale after the episode) about putting Escaping the Inescapable and Dance a Thousand Steps together in one big story with a bonus chapter and foreword (from diff peoples' point of view) and stuff like that. Do ya'll wanna see that or should I just leave them as two separate stories??

So, there's your chapter, ladies and gents. I would love to hear from you (comments, drop a line, review if you have the time, original pieces, flames, lawsuits, stalker notes) or however your heart moves.

Luce


	7. Innocence.

Hey, I'm back with another chapter. Thank you for the reviews and love, I owe it to ya'll to make this the best. It's coming along slowly, but almost to the end. Hope you like it, I don't know what else to say, but here it is in it's pathetic glory. Recap of last ch. : the final confrontation between tristan and maggie, rory's fight, then flight to Orleans, leaving Jess and Maggie...in the DuGrey mansion. The story continues.....Enjoy.

luce

disclaimer:1st ch.

They drove over the slick roads until the edge of dawn began hungrily clawing at the darkness, spreading over the sky like a pink, golden stain; Tristan hummed to keep himself awake. Pulling into the airplane terminal, he left the car with a valet, and nudged Rory.

Sleepily, she opened her eyes, and looked up.

The parking lot was cold, fresh, wet and black; she saw his face above it, behind him, the sky unfolding in pale, brilliant colors.

"Where am I?' she whispered, and it all rushed back. She groaned and closed her eyes again.

"C'mon," he urged, gently helping her towards the glass building.

She fell asleep again on the plane, her head on his chest, her hair splaying out over it like the rays of the sun as it steadily rose over the sleeping world.

"Oh, thanks Jess," grumbled Lorelai, rolling over in bed.

Nausea hit her; all she could recall was the long drive, then a glass of Chablis, then.......

Hanging up the cell phone, she crawled back under the covers. Worry nudged lines into her forehead. She knew she trusted them.

But she knew she had trusted herself.

Restlessly tossing, she got up, and examined the sunrise; debating whether to call or not to call, debating whether to yell or not to yell......her headache kicked in again viciously, and she grabbed her head. Snatching a towel, she headed for the shower, hoping the hot water would help.

In the DuGrey home, Jess threw the phone back on the floor, and fell back under the covers. He pushed a stray strand of gold hair behind the sleeping girl's ear, a slow smirk stretching across his face.

She opened her eyes slowly, and scrutinized him coolly; standing up, she let the gorgeously messy tendrils and damp strands of blonde hair fall luxuriantly over her back and face. The covers fell away from her, but she did not notice, or perhaps not care. Unashamed and un-phased, she licked her lips and looked at him. Jess cocked an eyebrow.

She shook her hair out, her long delicate fingers tangling it into a loose knot at the top of her head; a few clumps of the precious golden stuff trailed down her neck, over her bare shoulders. She covered her chest with the down comforter, tucking it under her arms, pulling up the long legs under the cover.

"Morning," he offered, and she took it carelessly. Nodding, she checked her watch.

"Oh God, I'm so fuckin' late! Did it ever occur to you this all took place in someone else's bed and that they'd eventually return?" she fumed, standing up, letting the covers fall off her frame like foam back into the sea.

"I don't recall that persistently being on my mind last night," he said with a small smile. She stopped for a second and looked at him.

"I don't either," she whispered, and leaned over, her sleep warm swollen mouth engulfing his with a deep, hungry severity.

"Mmmm...." he replied from between her lips, his hand slowly wandering across the bare skin, tracing maps and continents, traveling, caressing.

She pulled away, looking almost regretful. Standing up, with a disconcerting casualty she began strapping on her panties and bra. He lit a cigarette.

"Share," she ordered, and he tossed her the pack and the lighter.

In the cool, pearly grayness of the morning, she stood there against the breaking light, her fingers holding the glowing embers; her tall, graceful frame slouched in it's decrepit black lace glory, graceful like a heron's. She was so sensual, so terribly casual and sad.......he felt her inside him over and over again, grinding in the marrow of his bones, grating him with her carelessness. She shook her hair out over her proud back and slim shoulders, the hardened lines of her delicate, beautiful face glowing softly in the pale luminescence of dawn. It washed into the room slowly but surely, illuminating last night's terrible memories that lay scattered across the floor like the broken lamp.

He filled his eyes with the immortal, unforgettable picture before him, filled them with the black lines of her slim form, filled them with the ghostly clouds of smoke that encircled her like the mystery she was. He took in every detail, painting it in his memory forever. He knew he'd never forget this, that this moment would be alive in his mind for the rest of his life. It was the careless, hopeless, tragic sensuality of her hands, her fingers; it was the one night stand that would plague him for the rest of his life. It was the affair that would never die, or be forgotten.

She slipped on her coat, zipping it up and arranged her hair with a toss of her hands. Gathering her purse and shoes, she hopped a little, wobbling, slipping one on, and then the other. Re-applying lipstick, she pursed her lips in the mirror; she turned to look at him.

"I've got a flight to catch back to London," she said, unnecessarily. Neither of them really wanted an explanation.

He was watching her, smoking in bed, sitting up. He'd slipped on the boxer shorts, the covers lazily half thrown across his middle. She studied the powerful, lean outlines that flowed and rippled under the gold skin; breathed in the curious shape of his mouth, the dark smoldering eyes and hair with the cigarette smoke.

Striding over to the bed as he sat up, she met his mouth in one last kiss as he wrapped his arms around her back, holding her body close to hers. He placed a few lazy, experienced kisses along the base of his neck, as she ran her hands through the dark, tousled hair. She kissed his forehead one last time, and backed away, walking out the door, not looking back. 

He watched her departing frame thoughtfully, stubbing out his cigarette into the sideboard. 

"What a woman," he said to no one, almost laughing it out loud. "God, what a hell of a woman."

She had slept most of the day. He had not dared to awake her. In her tired, childish sleep she looked so innocent, so beautiful, so sweet that he hadn't had the heart. Closing the door softly he'd left her.

His phone rang. He fumbled with it, finally pressing talk.

"Hello?"

"Well, hello there, KIDNAPPER!"

He sighed deeply.

"Lorelai, please let me explain."

"Did you possibly think to do that before you crossed a few dozen state lines?" he heard the other voice dryly comment. 

"I thought I'd call and tell you a couple of days after we returned," he responded lightly.

"Funny. Now listen, and listen up good. If what you do while you are there affects my daughter in any kind of negative way, I will find you, I will punish you, and you will regret it with all of your heart. I'm notifying your next of kin as we speak. Get it?"

"Hey, instead of making death threats, don't you have a few body bags to take care of, a little money to launder, a little booze to peddle and a show on HBO to be in?"

"Wow, you're a regular Seinfeld this morning. While we're at it, don't you have a YM special you should be doing?"

"Try Forbes," chuckled Tristan.

"Try the obituary section of the New Orleans Gazette." muttered Lorelai.

"Lorelai, here are my intentions. I want to cater to your daughter's every whim for a few days, comply to her every wish and fulfill her every desire for a few days, whatever it may be. Than I shall return her to you insufferably spoiled and you'll be begging to take her off your hands, but she will be back safe and sound nevertheless. How's that sound?"

"I didn't like the fulfilling desires part. I'll give it a 5.0." said Lorelai skeptically.

"Okay, blank that out; replace- take care of her every need." joked Tristan.

"I still sense an innuendo."

"Alright, remove it completely." he said.

"7.0, no more."

"Good enough."

"Thus we conclude our bargaining. Tristan, I could command you to come home right now, but I've known you for a nice year and a half now, and I think Rory likes you." began Lorelai.

"You think?" he said wryly.

"And what's more important, I think I like you. Don't screw it up, ok? End of sermon, and end of call."

"All noted, all taken to heart. A pleasure chatting with you."

"No it wasn't. You should be quaking, terrified." growled Lorelai playfully.

"I'm biting my fingernails...."

"It'll have to do," sighed Lorelai. "Take care, kid. Give Rory my love."

"Will do, bye."

"Bye."

He slowly hung up, shook his head, and smiled widely.

Creeping into her room, he felt a cold chill. Her bed was empty. Memories raced through his head at an infuriating pace; he turned around dizzily, and there she was.

"Morning," she said, almost shy as she looked at him through wide, warm clear eyes.

He took a deep breath.

"Morning, love," he said, softly wrapping his arms around her, holding her. He had come so close to losing this; so close to losing everything. He felt the warm contours of her body against his, so clean, so pure, so right.

"Your mommy sends her love, and tells you not to be long," he said in her ear, kissing the top of it playfully, and the earlobe softly. She giggled, squirming away.

Bouncing back into the bed, she snuggled up under the covers, motioning for him to join her. He kicked off his shoes and crawled in, sinking into the warmth she'd created. 

They talked softly all morning while the fresh, clean rays of the sparkling golden morning sun poured through the window, bathing the whole room in bright, pure light. Sunbeams fluttered in and out from between the curtains playfully as they fluttered in the wind like huge, white butterfly wings. Through the open window, fresh breezes blew bringing in the scent of the flowers that dangled on the wrought iron balconies around them. From below on the street, sporadic notes of a sweet corner jazz tune danced up on the wind and filtered through the white lace. 

"I knew you would. I didn't worry," she said, snuggling into his chest with a reassured look.

"I wish I could say I was as sure as you," he sighed. "But all that's well ends well."

Rory turned her brilliant eyes towards him.

"She was crying, ........do you think........" she said quietly, and stopped, catching the pain on his face.

"I don't know whether she really loved me or not. But I know it's my punishment and the past had to be resolved. I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of, and she was one of them; I didn't wanna mess up again. I was sick of being me."

"But I like you," she murmured.

"I was sick of the old me."

"I didn't like that you," she giggled, her arms tracing little patterns across his chest, dancing.

"It's all over. Think we can start fresh, slate wiped, no skeletons in the closets?" he asked, his hand slipping in her hair.

She paused, considering it.

"Yes," she said seriously, gazing at him.

His mouth sought out hers for a tiny, gentle kiss.

The breeze from the window softly blew a tiny strand of brown hair over her face; her eyes watched him, wide and innocent and blue as the midday sky. In the silence he could hear his own heart desperately beat all of a sudden. She said nothing, but held his eyes steady, making a promise, asking a question.

Unsure, nervous, she reached up a small hand and placed it on his cheek like a little child. Her eyes brimmed and glistened, full of unspoken things. He lowered his head slowly, holding her eyes, making sure; his lips came into soft contact with her lazy, warm ones with a gentle pressure.

Shocked, he felt the urgency in her response. She slowly deepened the kiss, pulling him in, and he felt himself sinking inside her. He ached to touch her. He breathed in between her lips, leaving a soft trail down to her neck. She closed her eyes and allowed him to cover the sensitive skin with damp touch after touch, his lips worshipping every centimeter. 

"Tristan," she whispered, and he looked up attentively, wondering if he'd pushed too far. But the shy smile that adorned her lips were only a question, a disguised question that he was afraid to translate.

"Hmm?" he answered, not even bothering with words. She understood him too well.

She turned her face towards him, pulling him into a kiss that burned like a slowly building forest fire on his mouth, a deep, slow kiss that tensed his spine and made his fingers hurt, a kiss that was like a weight slowly crushing him. He could feel her lips, unsure but wanting, between his. His tongue slowly quested, not forced, exploring, caressing. She was soft, warm and yielding against him as his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight to him. She felt the hard angles of his body slowly meld into her soft curves in perfect harmony, leaving her will weak. Her hands wandered innocently over the well-formed muscles of his back, the contours of the steel under velvet. They slid down to his waist, to the small of his back.

He gasped , closing his eyes, suddenly pulling back from her lips. Her eyes were a question mark.

"I can't, I mean I can, but.......I don't think I should, uh," he said painfully, running his hand over his face for a second, trying to regain control. When he dared to look at her, the look on her face shocked him.

Maybe Rory Gilmore hadn't been schooled in passion, and maybe she didn't know exactly what the consequences of her actions would be. But the piercing want in her eyes glazed and brimmed, her lips pure and pink and full, her fingertips curious and unsure. At that moment, she looked like a little girl, as she stared with wide blue eyes.

"Could you if I wanted you to?" she asked shyly, and he crumbled under her innocent seduction.

"I'll do anything if you want me to," he said hoarsely, his power of speech gone. One hand slowly pulled off the covers that engulfed them. They slid to the floor, unnoticed. She shivered slightly, and he slowly got up and shut the wide glass French doors to the balcony outside. He turned around, and his eyes landed on her from across the room. She looked so small and vulnerable in the middle of the huge bed, sitting against the headboard with her long legs curled up. The room was dim and muted, the sunlight beating against the cream curtains on the outside, blocked from the room, and glowing with a dull luminescence from behind the windows. He was paralyzed for a second, watching her, his mouth dry, the immensity of the moment breaking over him like giant waves. 

He'd never been in love before, but looking at the slender figure that watched him tensely on the bed, he knew he was gone for good now. His mind feverishly imprinted the date in his memory with a red hot iron. He approached her hesitantly, and she came towards him, sliding off the edge of the bed to meet him. Her arms crept around his neck slowly, as his mouth sought hers out. She breathed in broken interludes.

"Nothing you ever did matters, only what you do now," she whispered, and he took the words from her lips with his mouth.

"I don't want this to just be some validation. Know that I love you, alright?" he said hesitantly, breaking off for a second, the thought haunting him. She shook her head and smiled shyly. 

"I love you too," she said, her words small and lost in the creamy dimness of the room, and he breathed him the moment for a second.

The kisses rained down on her mouth like fire; fighting restraint, his lips pressed against hers hard, and she jumped a little, nervously.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, and she nodded. Hesitantly he approached again, gentler this time, and she responded slowly, pulling him to her and letting him melt to fit her contours. His hands slid up the back of her shirt, carefully, and traced the proud arch of her spine with long, sensitive fingers.

"Tell me to stop," he said, sensing her nervousness. But she shook her head and kissed his ear, then his neck, unknowingly hitting a spot behind his earlobe. His muscles stiffened for a second, and a fiery surge coursed through his veins. He fought against instinct, trying not to scare her.

A weakness hit her knees as his hands gently explored her; they crept up her sides, and hesitated, as though waiting for some permission before continuing. She pulled his hips in to match hers, just wanting to feel him closer. A new rush of emotion, of want, of need submerged her, and she struggled to stay in control, to stay in command. But the battle was already lost. Falling backwards slowly onto the bed, they crawled backwards a few inches, and she was pinned underneath him. She let his heaviness sink into her, let his body crush hers with it's weight. She made herself transparent, wishing she could break him, and rearrange him inside her. His mouth poured heavy, sweet kisses that intoxicated her on her lips. She wanted him like a little child, and she wanted him like a woman; she could not seem to compromise. 

He took a moment to carefully observe her.

"You alright?" he asked softly, his hand stroking her cheek. She smiled, lost and dazed, her tongue unable to form words. Her hands slowly ran over his back, lifting his shirt. He swallowed hard when he realized she was serious. Slowly rolling off her, he sat up, and pulled the shirt over his head. Rory's mouth danced in a smile as she watched the movements of his muscles as he raised his arms. She propped herself up on her elbows with a delicious shiver. He ran a hand through the tousled hair, and smiled mischievously at her..

"I think I had a dream about this once," he grinned, and she giggled a little, relaxing. Her mouth was dry with want, her eyes huge and glimmering in the dimness. He pushed her hair away from her face with his hand, as he engulfed her again, his hands expertly and quickly running up the inside of the thin, white shirt she wore. He slid his hands inside the bottom of the sleeves, and she pulled her arms in, freeing herself. He lifted her neck and slid the shirt off, as she turned her eyes away. She quickly closed her eyes, too afraid of his reaction; but the firm kiss that followed reassured her. He was shaken, nervous for the first time ever, feeling the immense difference of what he was doing. She just let it wash over her slowly, savoring each second of intimacy. She'd never been this close to anyone, and her body screamed out for more. But she was long gone; the ship was sinking without it's captain.

Tristan felt a shock as her hands alighted on his belt buckle, her fingers delicately undoing it, and then letting it slide off. He complied, her he deftly slid off her jeans, and his, leaving them both vulnerable. They paused for a second, unsure. She could hear the irregular beating of her heart; she wondered if he could tell she was nervous. He only looked at her, letting a slow smile spread over his face. She crossed her arms over her stomach. 

"What?" she asked, a little unsure, as his smile broke into a grin. He shrugged boyishly.

"If you only knew how long I've wanted to do this," he replied, and she felt the words rattle through her bones. 

A flame burst inside her, and then dimmed to a roaring fire; a slight blush arose on her cheeks. 

He approached her slowly, and for some unknown reason, she backed away from him, until she was with her back to the headboard. There was nowhere to go. He advanced, his eyes gleaming, his smile fading into a tentative, almost reverent look, and planted an arm on both sides of her, boxing her in. He leaned over as she looked up, catching her off guard with a kiss that made her legs weak. She slowly slid under him, as he sweetly attacked her mouth with kisses that throbbed with a desire her body couldn't even comprehend. His hand spread her legs slowly, as she went mad with the sensations that ran through her. She felt hollow inside, desperate to be filled. His hands ran up further and further, and her will broke completely as her fingers hesitated. He took her hands gently and placed them on his hips, at the waistband. Their eyes searched trustingly for a second. He took a moment to unclasp her, slipping the thin white lace bra off; her fingers slowly pulled down the fabric, and there was nothing left in the way. They were silent, only the beat of their hearts pounding through the stillness.

"It's not too late to tell me to stop," he said heavily, his eyes begging hers not to. She shook her head, and her whisper was small and fragile.

"No." she answered, licking her dry lips, her hands sliding around his back. "It was too late the first time we came here, when I kissed you in the water by the docks..."

His frame trembled for a second, the touch of skin to skin pure electricity, shocking them both. She kissed his shoulder blades, and explored the scent and the taste of him. He remembered what he was doing, and tried to organize his thoughts. It was impossible. 

"I'll try not to hurt you," he whispered, as his fingers spread in an arc on her firm hip bones. A small moan escaped Rory's mouth that sent shivers through him. She buried her face in his chest, aware that he knew what he was doing and she didn't. His assured hands told her not to worry. She was fragile, yet strong underneath him, her slender frame flexible and strong like balsa wood. Her muscles contracted under his fingertips, and she took a deep breath. 

"Do anything you want to," she replied shyly, and he felt himself break into a million pieces at her words. He struggled to breathe, his eyes holding hers in the creamy dimness, begging her , wanting her.

"Don't say that unless you mean it," he gasped, unable to hold back much longer. He stood to his knees.

Her only response was a kiss. 

They lay dazed in the aftermath that followed; Rory limp, tangled into a sheet with Tristan, her hands still firmly dug into the heaving muscles of his back, as they slowly relaxed. He watched her hand as her fingers still trembled, and they silently held each other's gaze as they committed every detail, every feature to memory. His fingers lovingly traced her cheekbones, her lips, her skin that gleamed with the same sheer, glistening dampness as his. Her eyes were full and brimming, unsure, dripping with emotion. He struggled to regulate his breathing.

Pulling her close to him, he cradled her inside his arms, letting the beauty and pain wash over them as it receded, leaving them tired and full.

He rose up, and she looked away, with a new found shyness. Slipping on his shorts, he padded over to the windows, throwing them wide open, letting the sun and air fill the dim, damp room, freshening it with dry, sunny breezes. Rory felt empty somehow, as though she'd left part of her inside him; sitting up, she wrapped the sheet around her and slid off the bed, wincing at the sharp pain between her legs. Gliding over to him, she rested against his chest as they looked out the window.

"Think people can see us from their balconies?" she grinned, not really caring. He kissed her neck softly.

"Nope. Too busy doing their own thing," he answered, and she giggled, as he tickled her neck with his lips.

"Shower?" 

"You read my mind." he smiled, stretching, testing his muscles.

"One of my many gifts," Rory said wryly, closing the curtains.

They grabbed towels, heading into the huge, sparkling master suite bathroom. Opening the cabinet to look for fresh soap, Rory observed a bottle. Reading the label, she suddenly blanched. Turning around to see her face, he felt his blood freeze.

"What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly scared. She tossed him the bottle. Reading the label, he groaned, and then, let out a sigh of relief.

"My mom's morning after pills, on special prescription. God, I can't believe we didn't remember to use something. We got lucky this time. Sad, isn't it" he said darkly, sitting down on the edge of the jacuzzi.

"What is?" she asked softly, sensing. 

"My parents haven't been down here in a year; but this prescription's fresh. This is where she was having her affair. I can't believe life would be so ironic that I'd be benefiting from my mother's promiscuity." he said thinly, his features hardened. Sadness filling her, she sat next to him and wrapped his arms around him. He cradled his head into her shoulder, his eyes full of pain.

They said nothing for a little while, until he sighed, and got up. Handing her a glass, he opened the bottle, and poured out one pill. 

"Here, swallow this. And say a little prayer of thanks." he said grimly, and she did, relief washing over her.

They showered and dressed, and went downstairs; they spent the rest of the day roaming over the city, remembering their last visit, remembering and merging everything together again, shyly rearranging their love, their friendship to meet the new dynamics. They bought a bottle of rough, strong red wine that sent sadness seeping through their veins; night found them on the rocks by the bay shore again, watching the lights on the boats as they silently traveled over the dark, deep waters of the mighty river.

"Do you think what we did was wrong?" asked Rory quietly, as the cool breeze fluttered through her hair. He kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into the safe confines of his arms.

"No," he said truthfully, simply. "I'm in love with you. Nothing that involves you can be wrong." 

She grinned, and watched as a tugboat slid through the darkness like a firefly over the black-as-oil water.

The insistent ring of the phone startled them both, and Rory frantically searched her pockets and bag, producing the little cellular. 

"Yes?" she answered breathlessly, struggling to keep the note of guilt out of her voice.

"Rory?" said the heavy voice on the other end quietly, a voice she recognized well.

"Jess?" she said, concerned. "What's up?"

"Are you back in town by any chance?" the voice replied wistfully.

"No, why?" she answered quickly, suspicious.

"Just wanted to talk, that's all," he sighed, and she recognized the strange tone. A wave of concern hit her as her mind flashed back to ....the night.....and maggie! oh God.....

"Jess, Jess, listen to me," she said frantically. "When we left, Maggie was there, right? She was, so, what happened to her? Did she leave? Jess? No........."

"Yeah," replied the voice, chuckling a little. Rory breathed out a sigh of relief. She had a good guess as to what had happened, but she was relieved as she heard the small laugh.

"You're a horrible boy. A bad, naughty,-"

"Yeah, alright. I don't think it was a good idea, it's not turning out the way I thought."

Startled, Rory turned at the groan beside her; surprised, she watched Tristan run his hand over his face, rubbing his temples in frustration. He had been listening; she raised one eyebrow quizzically, and he shook his head.

"What's the matter?" she mouthed.

"God, he should've stayed the fuck away from her! I can't believe I didn't warn him, I'm such a fuckin' idiot....Christ! Why the hell didn't I say anything...."

"Tristan, it can't be that serious..."

"Rory?" said Jess, waiting on the line.

"Oh you have no idea," grimaced the blond boy.

"Jess, it's late. Sleep on it. I'll be home soon; don't worry. Ok?"

"No problem," said Jess carelessly, but with a tender note. "Take care, sis. G'night."

"Good night," said Rory softly, hanging up. She turned to Tristan.

"We should go home. We have school...and....Jess...." she said apologetically, and she saw by his face that he understood.

"I got to talk to him when I get there," said Tristan determinedly, getting up. She took his hand, and they walked back to the house, taking a carriage part of the way. 

"Pack quick. We need to be there by morning." said Rory.

They stepped out, shutting the massive iron gates behind them once again; he held her hand, and they hailed a taxi, departing into the darkness of the foggy night.

OOh, I sense another conflict emerging. Anyway, that was a little more....fluffy than my other chapters, and less intellectual. Hope you liked it anyway, and what now? What consequences will Jess suffer? How will this story end? It's all in the Epilogue, coming next week. It'll be the last chapter of the story, tying up all those pesky loose ends......then, due to popular demand, Escaping the Inescapable will be united with this story as it should have rightfully been from the beginning, first with a foreword (intro, a little teaser from before the actual story to explain the first chapter of Escaping the Inescapable) and then, A last and final added chapter which will be a flash into the future, or something of that sort. So prepare for it all to come to an end, pretty soon. It's been a pleasure. If you have the time or if you feel this piece of crap deserves it, I'd love it if you dropped me a line.......or review.....


	8. Dawn Breaking.

Hey everyone! Yes, I'm back after a very extended break with the end of this story; I finally found out what all the characters were planning to do, and I thought I'd tell you :-} So, here's their story, and the end of the long road. It's not officially the end, because when I join the stories together, I'll add the prequel and the final chapter, which will be a comprehensive epilogue (covers all). HOWEVER, I need someone to tell me how to join the stories! They used to have a feature where you could do that, but it's disappeared! Anyway, not sure of what to do, maybe I should just leave them apart like this and everything'll be alright.

So, anyway, here is your last and final Chapter of Dance a Thousand Steps. Sorry about the ending, if it's...too.....uh...you'll see what I mean. Thank you for all those who reviewed, you've been too generous. 

Enjoy.

Luce

Epilogue

The sun was rising in the distance, slowly, somewhere in the East; in Stars Hollow, it was still before dawn. Two weary figures stumbled out of a cab by the first street into town, a boy and a girl. There was an odd tenderness, a hidden intimacy to the way he held her elbow as she wavered on her feet, a natural air of protectiveness that permeated his actions. She was a sleepy, tired child-like beauty that clung to him softly, rubbing her sleep-hazy eyes; she smiled at him in the pearly grayness of the horizon, and the cabbie flinched. Echoes of a long lost sentiment played on his face for a painful second. Curtly, he named the fare and took the money, unfazed by the wad of bills the boy had pulled out. 

To him, it was another fairy tale, another lucid dream conceived in the early hours of the morning. One tall, blond, handsome boy, rich and polite and sleep-wrinkled; one mysterious, striking, doll-like figure that he sheltered in such a fragile way. He shook his head as he drove away, back to reality, back to Hartford. The two figures on the curb diminished to small shadows in the luminous, damp pre-dawn, and then disappeared.

On the curb, the girl leaned against the boy, a tired half-sigh half attempt at speech emanating from her throat, floating off into a small sound of contentment.

"Rory, c'mon. You can't fall asleep standing up."

She leaned against his chest, slumping against him, closing her eyes peacefully.

"Too late." she whispered, smiling a little smile to herself.

Tristan took her shoulders and stood her back, giving her a tiny shake.

"Earthquake!" gasped Rory, opening those vast blue eyes with a mock-shocked expression.

He rolled her eyes.

"You got jokes before the day's even begun. C'mon Sleeping Beauty, we're on a mission."

The two tiredly ambled down the main street, stumbling into each other occasionally, laughing a little. Had Rory been in her right senses, she would have realized what a scandal the scene would have caused if any of the local residents had seen it; but in her half-asleep state, she was too tired to attempt furtiveness.

Over their heads, the horizon was slowly turning pink, a blush nibbling at the edge of the cool, clear pearly luminescence of the gray dawn; underfoot, the asphalt was wet, probably from a previous rain. She stepped in small, black glistening puddles, sending droplets flying everywhere. The changing sky reflected in the small pools of water, quivering in the first strains of dawn. The streetlights were still on, but fading fast; over the treetops, a pale streak was breaking, the first trace of blue attacking the sky.

Everything was so peaceful, so pale, so sharply striking in it's wet, dewy intensity. She breathed in the clean air, and it left her chest chilled.

They wandered towards the diner, unsure of where to head.

The scene before them was striking, sharp, and fresh; they stopped still, just watching for a moment.

Sitting on the gazebo steps, across from the diner, was Jess.

The first hues of dawn were painted across his face in shadows and lights; they defined each strong, dark feature with a soft glow, tracing all the contours of his figure. He was wearing only a thin, white undershirt and a pair of rough jeans, the tenseness of his back apparent even from a distance. In his hand was a burning cigarette, it's glowing tip like a waning firefly in the new light; it hung there, seemingly forgotten, while it's owner stared out at the strange, pale glow on the horizon.

He did not seem to notice the cold, or to see Tristan and Rory; on his face was a calm, yet far away look, a look tinged with an unspoken sadness that was not easily revealed. He looked years older, and his hair was tousled and slept-in, a small trace of stubble coming in.

"Jess?" Rory breathed suddenly, and sharply, he awoke. Turning towards her, he smiled a wan smile, his face guarded again. He took a drag of his cigarette.

'What the hell are you doing out here at this hour?" he said amiably, motioning for them to join him. They sat down on the steps, watching the rosy hue as it spread across the sky like a stain, bringing in the first fiery rays of the sun in magentas and gold's. 

"I was worried about you," came her honest reply. "Plus, we have school tomorrow. I need to do some work."

He nodded, and dropped the last bits of his cigarette to the ground. Grinding it under his shoe, his shoulders slumped a little.

"I'm fine," he said nonchalantly, without an affected air. The honesty of the words startled Rory a little; peering carefully, she dug under the calm exterior, probing.

"I'm sorry about Maggie," she started, and saw his shoulders tense again. On the other side of him, Tristan pulled out a pack of Winstons. Jess gave a thankful half grin, and Tristan nodded. With one quick, expert movement, Jess tapped the bottom of the carton, flipped the cigarette into his mouth and lit it. Quickly looking at Rory, he waited. Sighing, she gave a half-hearted consenting nod. Taking a long drag, he let the smoke out into the misty air, watching it swirl in ghostly patterns around them.

"Me too," he said at last, and Rory leaned her head on his shoulder.

The three of them sat there on the gazebo steps, watching the light break over the town silently.

"I thought it would be just another....you know, notch. Another adventure. I didn't expect it to end like this, you know," he said, contemplatively, as though analyzing his own words. Tristan nodded, in a deeper understanding.

"I should have said something," the blond boy said ruefully, running a hand through his hair. Jess smirked.

"Hell, from one Winston man to another, do you think I would've listened?" he chuckled humorlessly, throwing Tristan an incredulous look.

The other boy grinned sadly, acknowledging the truth of those words. With a half mischievous smile, he arrogantly lit his own cigarette.

"Was it good, at least?" he asked conspiratorially, with a knowing air.

"Hell yeah," smirked the other boy with a gleam in his eye.

"Hey, none of that around me, gentlemen," came Rory's half-asleep but still dangerous voice.

"Yes ma'am," the two saluted at once, and then shot each other distasteful looks. Shaking their heads, they shared a private smile in their love for the innocent girl with the long legs sprawled on the steps, falling asleep on Jess' shoulder.

"I don't know what to do," commented Jess quietly, taking another drag. On the sky, the sun was breaking through in a victorious explosion of pink.

"Forget," said Tristan firmly, intently glaring straight ahead into space.

The darker boy nodded, licking his lips absently, not trying at all.

"She's fuckin' ruined me for other women, you know," Jess cursed softly, clenching his fist unconsciously. Tristan nodded in agreement, and then looked at Rory.

"That's what I thought too," the blond boy answered. "But it may not always be the case. You can't escape the inescapable, it's gonna find you one day, don't matter how hard you avoid it."

"Is that a bad thing?" piped up Rory's voice a little maliciously.

"Never that," chuckled Tristan softly, smiling secretly to himself.

On the horizon, the sun was fiery pink and rising, bathing their faces in fierce hues; across the street, unknown to all three of them, Patty watched the silent trio, camera in hand, quietly clicking away. With a thoughtful look, the older woman brooded by the open windowsill, and then sighed deeply.

"I believe they'll be alright," was all she said, firmly taking the camera away. With those last words, she shut the window and walked back into the darkened house. On the wall, ticking away in the morning darkness, the hands of the clock precisely announced 6:45.

At the airport, 6:45 flashed imperiously from the boards, demanding attention. People flowed in a startled, rushed hurry to their respective gates; around them, tired, expensive attractively lit stores awaited, empty. The cool tile of the vast floors made a clicking sound under her black Armani stiletto heels as she hurried down to Gate 15. A voice spoke over the intercom, unintelligible. The tall girl flipped her long, blonde hair back, her long legs straining the short, expensive black miniskirt of the Gucci business suit as they determinedly strode forward with a model switch that earned more than a few stares. Yes, Maggie Longbourne Sheffield was not a girl you'd be likely to miss; she demanded, or perhaps, commanded attention, no matter where she was with that walk. Dark sunglasses covered her eyes, in spite of the fact it was still early morning. A large matching Armani bag hung from her shoulder, swaying with her walk. The clock flashed faster.

"All passengers to Gate 15 boarding now, all passengers to Gate 15," the tinny voice announced in monotone. The tall girl stopped hesitantly.

She stood there in the middle of the airport, people swarming around her, tall and proud and beautiful; slowly she took off the sunglasses, revealing weary eyes.

She touched her lips for a second, a tiny smile playing on the corners of her mouth. A small sigh never surfaced; her tired eyes softened a bit, and a trace of sadness washed over her face. Hesitancy registered on her features, the monotone voice insistently blaring in the background, a child crying in a stroller, a heavy, lumpy woman bumping into her clumsily. She stood motionless, letting the tide ebb and flow around her, shutting every sound out, listening to her own heart beating tiredly within her chest. Her proud, curiously beautiful face melted for a second; taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulder.

With one last look, she walked away from Gate 15.

Soft strains of Vivaldi floated through the spacious, tastefully decorated rooms of the house. From the living room could be heard the soft clink of glasses, sporadic strains of polite yet mischievous laughter, and the low sound of people conversing. Grabbing a glass of port, Lorelai Gilmore entered the room where her grandparents sat. On the sofa, Tristan, Jess and Rory looked up at her.

"Yale is fine school, young man. I only wish you could influence Rory, but she seems to have her mother's stubborn streak...." Richard Gilmore chuckled, taking a sip of his gin and tonic.

Tristan snuck a wink in Rory's direction.

"I'm afraid she might beat me with one of her precious books if I even suggested it. We'll see a lot of each other on the weekends, and then there's always vacation." Tristan nodded, used to making polite conversation in a very charming manner. On the other side of Rory, Jess seemed to have gone in some soft of boredom induced coma. Tristan nudged Rory, who in turn sharply elbowed Jess.

"Yes?" said the boy, alertly sitting up.

Everyone looked at him oddly. A slight flush brushed over his face, and disappeared. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So, Jess, what school will you be going to in the fall?" said Emily Gilmore graciously, ever perceptive and the perfect hostess.

"Well, turns out I'm pretty sure I'll be in MIT," said Jess, and grinned at the few raised eyebrows. "Believe it or not, I got some off the charts scores on my SAT's, I don't know how."

Rory narrowed her eyes at him; knowing Jess, he'd either fixed the scores somehow, or he'd actually used all that stored up genius. One look from him assured her.

"I didn't have much in the way of extracurricular stuff, since I'm not typically your average..uh...involved kind of guy, but I had a nice essay. Some Thoreau and Emerson, and a quote from Napoleon of something."

"You are aware that MIT has earned a reputation as a wild playground for the intellectual. In other words, it's the most difficult party school anyone can get into."

"Well, that pretty much cinched it for me," grinned Jess, earning a distasteful look from Richard.

"I hope you won't run around getting drunk like those horrible Greeks," said Emily, pouring him a small glass of wine. Jess had the urge to suddenly laugh that he wisely repressed.

"No ma'am," he smiled, downing the whole thing.

"Well, it was nice having so many young people in the house for a change. Any plans for tonight?"

"Actually, since it's the end of the year now, we thought we'd go say goodbye to old Chilton and maybe stay out late a few hours, have a toast to days gone by," said Tristan.

"With diet coke, of course," hastened to add Rory.

"Lorelai, this is fine with you?"

With a short look at her mother's disapproving face, Lorelai decided suddenly that it was.

"Sure mom," she smiled sweetly, watching her mother's features slightly sour as she ushered them out the door.

"Next Friday," called out Emily Gilmore, standing on the doorstep, watching the group of four enter the car. Rory waved a cheerful goodbye.

Richard draped one arm around her, and sighed.

The school loomed broad and dark in the night, imposing in it's gargoyled, mysterious gloom. The ivy looked like dead, withered fingers clutching the cold stone walls; the courtyard stood dead still, as though holding it's breath, waiting for some terrible thing.

"Well, not much different than how it looked the first day," shivered Rory, wrapping her arms around herself. Tristan looked up in awe at the massive, solid building in it's dark glory.

"God, it's like.....a haunted house...."

"Why did we come here exactly?" muttered Rory, her eyes quickly shifting over the surrounding. The shrubbery seemed to hide some dark evil lurking just behind.

"Uh, to wish it a fond.....farewell?" said Tristan lamely, daring to peek down the dark, columned corridor.

Jess sauntered forward, slipping the credit card into his pocket along with a small black case of tools and a short wire.

"System disabled," he grinned, lighting another cigarette.

Tristan shook his head in amusement. 

"I don't know whether to thank you or to smack you silly," commented Rory, glaring at him balefully. All three looked up in silence at the frightening, gothic campus structure.

"Are we in a Stephen King novel?" said Jess uneasily, glancing around.

"This won't take long," said Tristan bravely. "Let's say bye to our beloved Chilton."

"And the newspaper headlines will say, They had Such a Bright Future," sighed Rory. "Let's go."

The trio proceeded.

"Oh shit," cursed Tristan. "I left my phone in the car, let me run get it."

The other two nodded, and sat on a cold stone bench, as Rory began telling Jess some Chilton urban legend.

Back at the car, Tristan pulled his phone out. Startled, he stared at the bright green display as it started to glow. The eerie sound of the few lonely, digitalized notes emanating from the phone chilled him; quickly, he answered it. 

"Hello?"

After a dramatic pause, the voice on the other end spoke sweetly.

"Hello, Tristan darling."

He felt his fist clench as his heart skipped a beat.

"What do you want?"

"This time, not your body. I want to know where he is." 

Tristan snorted, knowing all too well who "he" was.

"So you can fuck with his mind? Right. Friends don't let friends do ....Maggies."

"So funny, so charming," the British accent lilted. "Perfectly droll. Put him on the phone."

"No."

"Tristan!" hissed the voice petulantly, pleading, now sweet. "Please, babe?"

"Maggie....I don't think I should have to explain this agai-"

"I'm in Hartford," she suddenly interrupted, and he was frightened by the suddenly tired, vulnerable tone. He drew in a sharp breath.

"What the hell are you doing in Hartford? You're supposed to be in London, heading to Italy for your summer vacation right now. Matter of fact, shouldn't you be in Naples right now?"

The feminine voice on the other side sighed, a sigh that conveyed raw emotion.

"Tristan, for bloody chrissake, quit dicking around and put him on the phone, please," she said in a quiet, resolute voice.

Tristan leaned back, stunned.

"You're serious. I can't believe it. You flew all the way back here for this. You're serious."

"Will you quit babbling like an idiot?" the contralto sharply pierced the phone.

Leaning against his hood, Tristan breathed deeply, and made a decision.

"We're at Chilton. I'll wait for you, you have map navigation in your Aston Martin, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, and he could hear the relief that laced her voice, even through the shaky connection.

"Alright, bye," he said quietly, and listened to the click.

Swearing at himself, he lightly punched the hood, and then ran his hand through his hair; biting his bottom lip, he prayed he'd made the right decision for a moment. Unsure, he tossed the phone and caught it; standing up, he resolutely shut the door and walked away.

"What took you so long?" queried Rory, a little cross. "We're sitting here, in mortal fear of getting our blood sucked out by the ghost of some chemistry teacher and you're taking your sweet time....  
"You value Jess' protection that little?" joked Tristan, still uneasy.

"How bout a walk?" said Jess, getting up restlessly.

Tristan looked around, uncomfortably. 

"Sure, uh, why not. Let me lead a guided tour, matter of fact. By the way, you took care of that security camera right around the corner, correct?"

Jess saluted.

"Alright then, no problems. This way, gentleman and lady. Welcome to the fabulous Chilton...." Tristan announced, stepping into the dim hallway.

Outside, in the Chilton driveway, the gravel crunched under expensive tires. Stopping, the car shut off it's lights, disappearing in the darkness. 

The door open, and a lithe, svelte figure stepped out, carefully and warily slamming the door shut; she jumped a little at the sound, nervous. Examining the less-than-inviting surroundings, she took a breath and bravely stepped forward into the courtyard. Hearing voices coming from down the hallway, she headed determinedly in that direction. Stopping for a second, she smoothed down the signature khaki Burberry raincoat that tied around her waist and pushed her hair back from her face, subconsciously biting her lip. Taking one second to square her shoulders, she proceeded into the darkness.

Ahead, Jess lagged a bit behind the two as they shared some obscure memory buried in the mysterious archives that marked the begging of their relationship; examining a picture on the wall of the dimly lit hallway, he read the caption, not seeing it. The hallway was a pool of shadows in-between pale spots of light. It was no small wonder that he did not see her at first.

She stood there, watching him from a shadow; unable to wait any longer, she stepped forward into the dim light. Harsh shadows and angles where cast over the stunning features of her face. He froze, slowly turning his face to her.

Nervously, she stood there, waiting for some sign of recognition, some reaction. Slowly, he advanced, until he stood directly over her, eye to eye.

"You came back," he said evenly, his voice calm and dispassionate.

"Yes, I did," she replied, unsure.

Neither said anything; he examined her eyes, her face, searching her, turning her inside out. Ashamed of her decrepit psychology and reasoning, ashamed of what she knew he was finding, she defiantly looked at the ground.

When she looked up, his eyes were soft with......forgiveness. She breathed sharply. She didn't understand, and then, suddenly, she did.

He leaned in slowly, terrifyingly measured, tantalizingly careful; she stood still, afraid to breathe. To her surprise, his lips landed on her cheek, a soft gentle kiss. She shook a little, afraid of the waves breaking over her. His hand cupped her jaw with the gentlest of motions; his lips were soft and warm on her skin. His gentle, unexplained action was so terribly intimate, so casually heartbreaking that she buckled completely under it. Emotions swallowed and drowned her, and she was lost in the urge to cry. Pulling away, he put both hands on her shoulders, observing her heaving chest and downcast eyes, the quivering mouth. Slowly pulling her to his chest in an embrace, he let her shiver there, like a lost, broken bird tossed out of a storm into his hands.

"It's alright," was all he said, and all he needed to say. 

In front of them, Tristan and Rory watched the two tortured beings, tangled in their hate and desire and intelligence, irreversibly fucked up, who'd found peace in each other. The couple in the hall holding each other took no notice of their stare. For Jess and Maggie, the world was closed within a small space filled with damp tendrils of blond hair, a warm breath, a small, soundless sob; centimeters of space, closed by skin, by touch, by emotion.

Maggie stood back, looking at him, meeting the same sad knowledge in his eyes.

"I just wanted to let you know you've ruined me for life," she whispered with a shaky smile. He nodded, sweet bitterness flooding him.

"Same here," he said dryly, struggling with the words.

"Will I ever see you again?" she said, and he understood everything, circumstances, the turning of the universe and the meaning of life in that second. Half a second later it was lost on him again. 

"I'm waiting," he said simply, and she nodded. 

"When the time is right," she whispered, and he understood. 

She backed away, two steps, three steps.

"I can't forget you," he said so softly she barely caught it.

Four steps, five steps. Six.

"I would bloody hope so," she quavered, her face tragic and still with shadows clashing. The raincoat swished around her long, lithe, bare legs, the thin heels tapping slowly as she continued backing away, facing him still.

Seven. Eight, nine, ten.....

"Bye," he mouthed silently, and she read it.

"Goodbye," she mouthed back, and disappeared around the corner.

She was gone. The hallway was empty, filled with pools of pale light and shadow; he was alone again.

Rory and Tristan silently slid into Mr. Medina's, filled with their own thoughts, their own memories. Sitting down at a familiar desk, Rory propped her feet up nonchalantly; with a smile, Tristan flopped into the seat next to her.

"I remember sitting here," she said lightly, watching him in the dim darkness. "You stared at me."

"All the time," conceded Tristan. "I thought about doing it on his desk too."

She giggled, and Tristan raised an eyebrow.

"Rory Gilmore, I can't believe you. Seriously, for chrissake..."

But she had already dragged him up front, and jumped up on his desk; pulling him between her legs, she tangled him up in her mouth, her fingers, warm and rough. He slowly pushed her down to the desk, his hands under her skirt, breathing in between her lips, running the tip of his tongue over the roof of her mouth.

"This is better than I'd imagined," he whispered. She grabbed his tie and roughly shut his mouth with hers, her other hand sliding down his stomach to his belt. A paperweight fell to the floor; neither one noticed.

Wandering out in the hallway, slightly more rumpled than half hour ago, they ran out to the courtyard. Jess appeared from the darkness, his face saying everything they needed to know.

Hugging him, Rory slowly absorbed his pain, rocking him back and forth like a baby.

The three looked up at the school again, remembering everything for one last time.

The lockers. The taunting. The projects. The work, the mind numbing classes, the small journey of a damp tongue over dry lips, watching her. Waiting for her. A piano bench......a short talk in the courtyard.....a laugh.......then autumn....

Where do you wanna go? He'd asked, numb. Rory was talking to him.

Anywhere, she had said, and that's where they had gone. And here they were, back again.

Slowly walking out the gates, they both whispered their final farewell, saying goodbye forever.

In the early hours, before light even crept over the darkened sky, turning midnight into gray, the older Lorelai climbed into Rory's bed.

"Rory," she whispered, shaking her daughter.

To her surprise, Rory rolled over, her eyes wide open. 

"When did you get in?" asked Lorelai, surprised. Rory sighed.

"We dropped Jess off about an hour ago. Then I crept in. I didn't want to wake you up, but...I couldn't sleep. I feel too full...of everything....it's just spilling over the sides of me," whispered Rory, looking at the ceiling.

Lorelai cuddled into her daughter, grabbing the stuffed hen.

"You slept with him," she said, and it was more a statement than an accusation. "I can tell. You look rosy. Rosy is a telltale sign; we both get very rosy. Glowy too. We don't even need a nightlight in here, matter of fact, you light everything up-"

"Alright," interrupted Rory, half embarrassed, waiting tensely for her mom's response. She received only a contemplative silence.

"I knew it was going to happen, I was just hoping it wouldn't, you know? You're eighteen, Rory. I can't keep you under my thumb anymore and make you wear sparkly princess dresses anymore. You're leaving and going to college soon. But I want you to know, you're my daughter and I love you. I don't want you to make mistakes like I did, that's all," Lorelai continued. She took a deep breath.

Beside her, Rory relaxed a little.

"Do you think you'll be alright....with everything?" asked Lorelai, finishing the lecture.

"I'm in love. I don't know what I'm doing." whispered Rory in a plaintive tone of voice.

"Poor baby..." grinned Lorelai, hugging the girl. "Now the dirt. If you're old enough to do it, you're old enough to share the juicy details."

"Mom!"

"Just playing, just playing," muttered Lorelai.

Silence filled the room for a moment.

"No you're not," accused Rory suddenly.

"So! Is it that wrong to want to know! Not even one little detail? Maybe, a general rating, or..."

"No!"

"Why!"

"Because I said so," said Rory flatly, and rolled over.

A disgruntled silence fell between the two.

"We did it on Mr. Medina's desk," giggled Rory in the darkness, eliciting a gasp.

"That is wrong in every kind of way possible!" wailed Lorelai, clutching her arm. "Now you have to tell me! You are cruel and horrible and-"

"Goodnight, mommy." said Rory, and closed her eyes. A frustrated Lorelai grumbled a few unintelligible and uncomplimentary things under her breath, and turned her back.

As the first rays of the dawn broke over the town, the two fell into a deep, peaceful sleep. At his house, Tristan put out his last cigarette and climbed into bed, smiling a little as he closed his eyes. In his bed, Jess slumbered fitfully, tossing and turning.

Outside, the world waited, waited for them; they were young, bright, and full of passion, deeply entwined within complex memories and feelings, between dark and light, between friendship and love, between terrible secrets and finally cleared pasts. 

The first rays broke over the horizon.

There it was, in all it's horrific, sappy glory. The Epilogue. And I hope ya'll enjoyed reading this entire story, and now, I ask for opinion; leave it, or put it together? Also, I've left some loose ends, in case I join it, so I can tie them up nice. I'd appreciate it if readers dropped a line, just to let me know what you thought...a little review..something...anyway, adios.

luce


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